TOR: War in the Shadows
by robhumph
Summary: A Jedi Order scattered. A Sith Empire resurgent. An ancient threat stirring. As war resumes, pieces are moved around the board by subtle hands in a game of galactic conquest and personal glory, a game of which there can only be one victor... ((SWTOR post KotET so here there be spoilers. OC based. Blood guts, gore and all that too so beware.))
1. Chapter 1: The Enclave

**New story here if you hadn't guessed. Set in Star Wars: The Old Republic.  
** **This time not written entirely by me and instead by the fellows below (All can be found on this very site):**

 **Robhumph - Yours truly  
** **NihilXIII - Creator of all things awesome  
Mardya - The leader of our band of merry men**

 **Disclaimer: Neither Star Wars nor The Old Republic setting is owned by us and all rights go to Disney, EA and Bioware. We three only claim ownership of our various OCs**

 **Please read on and feel free to slap a review on this when you're done. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER I  
THE ENCLAVE**

" _The time to act is_ now _. The longer we wait, the more time we allow the Jedi to reorganize into a cohesive unit, and that simply cannot happen if we are to deliver a swift, killing blow to the Republic. Were such decisions up to me, I'd take as many resources as can be spared while the Republic is distracted by our main force, and destroy their sacred grounds and gathering places. Flush them out in smaller droves, and systematically wipe them out before their Order can reform and give you Sith another reason to become distracted from our galactic conquest._ "

\- Commodore Vahn Stahl of the Imperial Navy, appealing to Lord Kelzan following the defeat of Zakuul, shortly before his promotion to Admiral.

* * *

 _ **Dantooine System  
** **Raioballo Sector  
** **0800 Hours (local time)**_

Dantooine; hardly the most impressive of worlds in the vast Republic, but it was part of the Republic nonetheless. Therefore, a small flotilla had been stationed above the planet to protect it and its populace from the likes of the Sith, Mandalorians and any other would be conquerors or pillagers. Host to a Jedi Enclave, the planets importance was symbolic, rather than strategic, and although such sites were numerous throughout the galaxy, the one on Dantooine had a more storied history than most.

Captain Remal thought of this as he idly paced on the bridge of the _Star of Alderaan_ , a _Valor-_ class cruiser that had served the navy since the early days of the Great War. Three months he'd been stuck here on glorified guard duty, alone to safeguard a useless, grassy mound. _Well_ , he thought, _alone until the Admiral showed up and stuck his fleet on the far side of the blasted planet_.  
Three months that could have been better spent raining death upon the Empire. On Balmorra maybe? The Sith had recently renewed their efforts to demolish one of the primary foundries of the Republic.

He was roused from his thoughts by the voice of an ensign. "Captain. Something on the long range scanners."

Remal sighed. "Anything more specific than 'something'?"

"It's big, sir. Clarifying transponder signatures." A pause while the ensign studied the results of the scan more closely. "Imperials!"

Well, perhaps today wouldn't be so boring after all. "Ah, at last. We'll show these Imperials what happens when they encroach on my territory. Battle stations!" Remal bellowed and focused intently on the bridge viewport, as if willing the enemy fleet to arrive sooner, so he could crush them faster. "Alert the rest of the flotilla! I want every ship prepped and ready for those womp rats! And alert Master Gabrian!"

The Bridge exploded in activity as crewmen rushed to and fro, preparing for the coming storm.

"Sir?" The same ensign piped up in a questioning tone, which just irritated Remal.

"What?"

The junior officer shrunk a little. "Shouldn't we inform Admiral Loran?"

Ah yes, how could he forget Loran. Insufferable Nautolan. How was that alien a higher rank than him? It never failed to make Remals blood boil. "Yes, yes. Inform the good Admiral." He waved the idea aside to the ensign.

The other captains under his command signalled their response and soon maneuvered themselves into a defensive formation with the _Star of Alderaan_ at its heart, ready to take the brunt of the attacking force.

There was a lull, there always was. The quiet before the storm as you waited for the enemy to exit hyperspace.

Then, it happened. Just within visual range, the Imperial fleet dropped out of hyperspace. The first to appear was a _Harrower-_ class dreadnought, the typical capital ship of the Empire. Something about this one seemed off, however; it was fast, maybe too fast. Remal pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, they were of no use now, for the rest of the Imperials had arrived. Four _Terminus-_ class and two _Gage-_ class. A small force, what were the blasted Imps playing at?

"Captain, they've launched fighters," a voice informed him from behind. "There's a squadron heading for the planet, looks like they're escorting a landing party," followed by an urgent "enemy targets incoming!"

"Bah. They think they can land? Launch all fighters!" Remal roared. "Full power to forward shields and batteries! I want turbolasers ripping into them as soon as they're within range!"

The Battle for Dantooine had begun, and Remal was determined to go down in history as its victor. He'd sooner marry an Ulgo than let Loran take the credit for another one.

...

When the pilot of the Imperial Assault Shuttle _Aurek IV_ brought the troop carrier down through the clouds, Krysil unbuckled his crash webbing and stood, leaning in between the pilot and the middle-aged Sith in the co-pilot's seat.

"What's going on, Kevaarn?" he demanded, peering down towards the green meadows and grassy slopes stretching out before them. "Your father promised us a battle such as the Empire hasn't seen since the Outlander took the Eternal Throne. And look! What do we get?" Krysil pointed towards the window. "Force-forsaken buttercups and daisies!"

He might have been exaggerating but not by much. A landscape of green hills and lush meadows rolled out before them. Far away, in the distance, an azure lake shimmered in the sunlight. The antlers of grazing Iriaz bobbed peacefully in the grassy fields, and a flock of geese took flight, startled by the ship's roaring engines.

Kevaarn chuckled and loosened his own crash restraints. "Think of it as your very own sacking of Coruscant, Krys. I know I am."

"I plan to do a lot more than sacking," Krysil promised, fingertips trailing over the hilts of his lightsabers. "Lower her down," he instructed the pilot, leaving the cockpit to stride between the rows of men seated on each side, and making for the sealed hatch. Kevaarn grabbed his helmet and followed close behind, listening when Krysil turned his head toward him. "I thought Lord Kelzan would put you in charge," he confessed, keeping his voice at murmur. "You're his son, after all."

The older Sith shrugged and pushed the helmet over his head, securing it tightly to the neck guard underneath. "Maybe he thought it past time you started doing something useful?"

Krysil grimaced at the words of his friend, only too aware of the reputation, or lack thereof, he held among the Sith. 'Lazy, irresponsible, overconfident and full of himself', those were the traits his superiors used to describe him. Whatever! Their contempt was preferable to their goodwill, especially after Lord Strafe had dropped his interest in apprenticing the younger Sith. _I got lucky_ , Krys thought. _Let them think me a fool, good for nothing. I got away from Strafe, and no other will apprentice me now._

Ever since, he had avoided assignments for fear of drawing renewed attention from potential Masters. There had been a backlash, of course. Once the ire of his superiors had become known, many of his allies had turned against him, eager to demonstrate their zeal and prowess at the expense of the 'rebel'. It had been a good time; there had been no lack of challengers and he had seized the opportunity to show them why he had been Lord Strafes first choice. After that, they had left him alone and he had chafed at his self-imposed inactivity.

When word had reached him of Lord Kelzans intentions to attack the Jedi, he couldn't hold back any more. Surprising friend and foe, he had stepped forward and volunteered for the mission. And if that had not been enough to shock his fellow Sith, Lord Kelzan had not only accepted his offer of service but had placed him in charge of the ground troops. He had not given an explanation for his decision and Krysil, speechless and awed, had not thought to ask until the Sith Lord had dismissed him and the opportunity had been lost.

"You know what? It wouldn't surprise me." Krysil replied wryly.

He pulled the release lever and opened the hatch to the elements, reeling against the wind that battered against his sleek armor and whipped his sandy-brown hair into a frenzied mane. Gaining a hold of the bulkhead above the opened hatch he leaned forward into the wind and looked back. Five more ships followed the _Aurek IV_. Two of them held troops, ordinary foot soldiers that Krysil considered expendable. The remaining three were dropships, modified to carry transports and the heavy artillery that would breach walls and bring further ruin to the defences of the old Jedi enclave. Further behind, no more than dots on the horizon, was a squadron of _Supremacy_ -class Mark VI starfighters, to provide air support after a brief skirmish on their way to the planet.

The ship touched down in the fields closest to the enclave approach, and Krysil jumped to the ground. Behind him two more assault shuttles landed and behind them, the dropships had begun their final descent. Imperials ran back and forth in organized chaos, establishing a perimeter while they offloaded the heavy artillery. Controllers navigated Imperial Walkers down into the hastily prepared staging area, and once the siege crawler transports had been deployed, troopers began to file on board. Eventually, the fighter squadron approached, and fell into a standard air patrol to safeguard the Imperial forces while they prepared to move out.

Krysil didn't stay to watch. The men were well trained and each knew their task, leaving Krysil with a few minutes to spare. He walked away from the perimeter, jogging up the hill to look out over the plains that separated them from their enemy. He stretched out into the grass and raised a pair of macrobinoculars before his eyes. Scanning the fields and walls surrounding the enclave, he finally turned his attention to the arched entrance where tiny figures in Republic armor gathered. He narrowed his eyes upon spotting a pair of robed men, and tapped his comlink.

"Kevaarn! Tell the men to hurry!" he said, with renewed urgency. "The Republic knows we're here and they're gathering in the courtyard. Fifty men at least, including two Jedi. There may be more, but I can't see them yet. Six turret nests on the perimeter and - wait! They got an anti-air missile launcher! How'd they get one already?"

He scrambled away from the hilltop and jogged down the slope. "Get the vehicles ready! We're on the move!"

...

The interior of the Jedi enclave spoke of the neglect during the centuries since it had been laid to ruin, though nothing could be done to remedy that just now. Astromech units rolled to and fro, assisting with the repairs and maintenance on the scant few _Manka_ -class APC's and PT-7 bombers that the Republic had eventually agreed to loan. Hastily rigged holo-terminals and tactical displays dominated the crumbling atrium, around which officers and soldiers bearing a mixture of Republic and Dantooinian insignia were crowded. The local militia, few though they were, had rallied upon hearing of an Imperial strike force coming to erase their most prominent historical monument, and though the Republic response team seemed equally as sparse, they outnumbered the local militia almost two to one.  
Dust and debris littered down from the ceiling periodically, as the concussion of the approaching walkers shook the ruined enclave to its foundations. The structure, however, was sturdy; its remains had withstood the test of time. Surely, they would withstand an Imperial strike force.

Captain Roza Echo of the Republic 202nd battalion, her white and tan armour bathed in the ghostly light of a holodisplay, was going over details one last time with two of her men.

"The Imperials will be exiting through this valley here," she said, as the northernmost valley illuminated itself on the display. "We'll have cover set up in the field beyond the perimeter for the opening exchange, but it won't take them long to push us back into the perimeter ruins," she explained, and once more the map updated, highlighting a vast network of ruins surrounding the entrance to the enclave courtyard.

"Guerilla tactics coming into play, ma'am?" Lieutenant Hathor asked, leaning forward and studying the map.

"It's one solution. I'm going to be splitting the 202nd into squads. The Imperials have the numbers advantage over us, but if we use the ruins to our advantage and cross our firing arcs, we can cover more ground," Echo explained.

"Squads, captain? I don't know-"

"I've seen what the Empire's bringing to the table, Hathor," she berated. "Com-scan indicates they outnumber us, and they're bringing heavy artillery, whereas we can barely get three refitted APC's up and running," she hissed, gesturing to the makeshift hangar behind them.

"Squads, then," Hathor conceded. "Not a bad strategy, but it won't take them long to flush us out of there".

"I know, Lieutenant," Echo replied tensely, "but we need to slow them down. If their walkers breach the perimeter, there'll be nothing between them and the enclave".

"We have bombers," Private Tarvi piped up, imitating the Captain and gesturing to the hangar.

"Yes, but they won't be repaired in time," Hathor replied, before Echo had the chance.

"We're estimating that the Imperial forces will be upon us before our artillery and air support is functional," Echo elaborated. "Ordinarily that would be a problem, but we know their air support is effectively grounded until they're desperate enough to risk going up against that AA launcher".

"Right," Tarvi muttered, sounding unconvinced.

"Private, have a little faith," Echo ordered. "When we move out, I want you on cover detail. Find yourself a team and a cargo handler. Any spare cargo container, any unused speeder, anything not bolted down, I want it out in the field."

"Yes ma'am!" Tarvi saluted.

"Lieutenant, find Private Sora. He was impressive during the Mygeeto campaign, I want him in our squad for this one".

"Affirmative," Hathor nodded.

"Once you've located him, begin assigning squad leaders. We'll regroup at 0900 local time," the Captain instructed. Both men turned to leave with their captain, but were halted abruptly by a voice yelling from across the atrium.

"Captain!" a militiaman shouted, while jogging across to Captain Echo. He skipped around a squad of troopers jogging toward the staging area, and deftly weaved around machinery and over cables and pipes snaking all the way to the massive generators at the back of the atrium, before coming to an abrupt halt before her.

"Captain," he saluted, "I have the latest update from Admiral Loran."

Captain Echo took the proffered datapad from the militiaman, then removed her helmet and placed it atop the dust-covered tactical display that she and the others had been hunched over. Brushing her sweat-slicked blonde hair from her forehead with one hand and scanning the datapad with her steely eyes, it took her a moment to realise that the militiaman was still saluting her expectantly.

"At ease," she murmured, leaning back against the tactical console. "You're on comm support?"

"Affirmative, ma'am," the man beamed, his dark eyes twinkling with admiration for her. She resisted an urge to roll her own eyes, then turned to address her men. When the militiaman still didn't return to his station, she stepped aside for him to join her.

"You got a name?" she asked, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

"B'nath, ma'am," the man beamed, looking to the other two armoured soldiers with equal admiration. "I've always wanted to serve with the Republic. There isn't usually this much excitement here on Dantooine, even with the war going on."

"Yeah?" Lieutenant Hathor piped up. "Let me tell you now, B'nath, you'll be praying for the quiet life before this battle is over."

"Making friends with the locals again, El-Tee?" Private Tarvi chuckled, giving B'nath's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Ignore the Lieutenant. He's a soft-touch really."

"Not as soft as you, Tarvi," Captain Echo smiled, gently pushing him back and steering B'nath away from the others. "Listen, B'nath. We've got a battle to plan," she explained. When he looked crestfallen, she smiled as warmly as she could manage. "We'll talk when this is over. Maybe there's a commission waiting for a capable comms officer somewhere in the Republic army," she winked, and sent him away beaming brighter than ever before.

Once he was out of sight, Echo replaced her helmet, and motioned to the others to follow when she began marching for the exit.  
"I'll deliver this to the Jedi," she declared, waving the datapad still held in her hand.

While the atrium was a fine example of controlled chaos, the courtyard - now the staging ground for the Republic response team - was oddly serene. Troopers went about their business, setting up repeater turrets and finalising the setup of the AA launcher that had been reluctantly provided to them, but without any seeming urgency. It was clinical and precise, and at the heart of it all stood two Jedi; one tall and quite powerfully built beneath his robes, the other slight, and almost lost in the folds of his own garb.

"I expect they'll be upon us within the hour, Master," the slighter of the two commented, with an ill disguised air of impatience. "I've studied the lay of the area, it's not easy to land in these parts. The valleys will funnel their artillery, too."

"They will arrive whenever they arrive, Cael," the larger of the Jedi replied. He stood perfectly still, and yet completely at ease, his hands clasped together before his chest, forefingers steepled toward his furry chin. "Your impatience will not see the sun rise any faster."

"The sun _has_ risen, Master Gabrian," Cael muttered under his breath, indignantly gesturing to the sky above.

"An expression, young Padawan," Gabrian sighed with exasperation, opening his feline eyes and giving the younger Jedi a stern look. "For the moment, we bask in the serenity of a new day. We do not know how long this peace will last, but we can use this time to focus our minds, to gain clarity within the Force," the Cathar lectured.

"And yet around us are men preparing for battle…" Cael countered, folding his sinewy arms across his chest. "It's difficult to find clarity in peace when that peace will not last. It never lasts."

"Careful, Padawan," Gabrian warned, his voice rumbling with discomfort at Cael's words. "We prepare not to defeat an enemy through violence, but to protect and preserve a bastion of peace and justice. This enclave could be a beacon of hope for our Order," he went on, gently guiding Cael by the shoulder to turn and drink in the sight of the ruined enclave.

"And if it falls? If we fail, Master?"

"Then its memory will live on, and, Force be willing, it shall serve as a reminder that conflict can bring only misery."

Cael raised a brow, finding it difficult to challenge Master Gabrians words, but was relieved from the trouble of having to do so when a voice called to them from across the courtyard.

"Master Jedi!" It was Captain Echo, walking as briskly as she could, tugging off her helmet with one hand and brandishing a datapad in the other.

"You bring news, Captain?" Gabrian asked, taking the datapad and tapping against its screen delicately with his foreclaw.

"Word from the fleet. Admiral Loran has engaged the enemy, sir."

"Indeed?" Gabrian asked, scanning through the transmission, his whiskered nose twitching with amusement. "It would seem the good Admiral was wise to keep our fleet hidden on the far side. A surprise retaliation will not have been expected."

"I believe that's why it's called a 'surprise', sir," the Captain replied, with a wink at Cael while Gabrian busied himself with the report. Cael shook his head and resisted smirking at his Master's expense.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, quite so," Gabrian agreed thoughtfully, "but I doubt the Empire expected us to muster Republic support so quickly, to respond to the information leak about this pending attack".

"Could be that they don't know they have a leak," Echo suggested, with a mild shrug. "Their attacks on Ossus and Lothal were uncontested, they had no reason to suspect we'd suddenly become wise".

"I'd be interested to know the source of this leak," Gabrian pondered, giving Echo a sly look that suggested he suspected the Captain possessed such information.

"All I know is that it's supposedly someone under Stahl's command," the Captain replied cautiously, "and that's strictly off the record. Anything else is on a need-to-know basis".

"Very well Captain, I'll ask nothing that will compromise you," the Cathar agreed with a solemn nod.

"Can Admiral Loran win this battle, Master?" Cael asked, stretching to see over the Cathar's thick, bristly forearm and read the information for himself.

"I fear that depends on the numbers and strategy of the Sith he faces, Padawan," Gabrian admitted, with a heartfelt sigh. "Alas, the Admiral is far better suited to naval warfare than you or I. If he believes his tactics are sound, then we should have faith."

"As you say, Master," Cael replied, perking a brow but bowing his head all the same.

"With respect, Master Jedi, scans indicate that the Sith ground force is comprised of siege tanks and walkers, with a full supplement of troops," Captain Echo reported, glancing out to the fields where the enemy would soon spill and where battle would commence.

"And have your scouts detected any Sith among them?" Gabrian asked, curling a tuft of fur beneath his chin with a single claw.

"Uncertain, Master Jedi," Echo admitted, "though if the previous attacks on installations such as this are any indication, I'd bet my bottom credit on it."

Troubled, but no less deterred, Master Gabrian gave his Padawan a squeeze of the shoulder, and then lowered the hood of his robe. Cael discarded his entirely, the indigo fabric pooling on the floor behind him, and to his Masters chagrin, his hand found the gleaming, etched hilt of his lightsaber.

"As my Padawan appears so eager to wade into battle, I'd suggest you order your men to their battle stations, Captain," Master Gabrian mused, while gently plucking Cael's hand away from his lightsaber.

"Master? They'll be on us any minute, I-"

"You will be patient, young one. Conflict is inevitable at this stage, and I see no advantage in rushing to meet it head on."

Cael inhaled deeply, and sunk to his knees, to meditate on the Force and Master Gabrians teachings. All around him, the gears of war set into motion, but somewhere within it he knew he must find equilibrium.

He didn't know how long it had been when a sense of impending danger spiked at the back of his mind, but when Cael Serasai opened his eyes and snapped from his meditative trance, it was clear that the peaceful dawn was about to be torn by battle.

The first of the enemy crawler tanks burst through the valley and onto the plains, followed by a second, and a third. In their wake, barely visible through the dust churned up by the transports, were the three-legged Imperial Walkers, plodding their death march single-file through the valley. In short order, they'd also join the fray, raining down heavy fire that Cael wasn't sure they could repel.

 _Perhaps if the Republic had given us more resources,_ Cael thought to himself with mounting frustration, _we could have defended the entrances to the enclave rather than let them walk right in and kill us_.

"Padawan, focus!" Gabrian again admonished, sensing the tension in his Padawan.

"Oh, I'm focused alright," Cael ground out through gritted teeth. This time, when his hand found his lightsaber, he unclipped it and thumbed the ignition plate. Bathed in brilliant blue-white light, he opened himself to the Living Force, and without awaiting further protest from his Master, waded into the thick of battle.

The crawlers disgorged their bowels upon the plains, spilling a sea of black over the lush green field and filling the air with the stench of ozone, as blasters began firing across the expanse from both sides. The morning glow burned with green and crimson, the birdsong drowned in the cacophony of shells firing and exploding, and the light breeze nursed the embers of battle into roaring fires that swept between the battle lines.

Relieved of their loads, the crawlers were repositioned and began laying siege to the enemy front, unleashing heavy cannons and mortar launchers alike, while remaining steadfast against the bolts of return fire that peppered their armoured hides.

Imperial troopers descended upon their objective relentlessly; some fell in the opening moments of battle, felled by the searing bite of the Republic heavy repeater cannons, or swept aside by concussion grenades launched by the local militia.

Captain Echo was one of the first into the fray alongside her three squad mates. The opening salvos had superheated the moisture of the morning air, and in minutes, the battlefield was layered with mist and smoke, illuminated by the flashes of discharging blasters and flaring whenever a missile struck home. It was nothing she hadn't seen a dozen times before, but this time, she was acutely aware of the numbers advantage that the Empire had over them.

"Captain, those crawlers will tear us to pieces!" Lieutenant Hathor called over the noise, during a moment of respite found behind the bulk of an overturned and largely destroyed cargo speeder.

"Concussion grenades won't do it, we need those APC's," added Sora. He was hot-headed, but he continued to prove her instincts about him right.

Private Tarvi nodded in stoic agreement, barely managing to tear himself from the staccato bursts he was pumping into the advancing enemy. Captain Echo hunkered down behind the overturned speeder and pulled out her comlink and macrobinoculars.

"Base command, this is Captain Echo, requesting ETA on artillery support," she called into the mouthpiece.

" _Roger, Captain Echo. Artillery is en-route, please supply target co-ordinates_ ," a voice replied. It was B'nath, the comms officer she'd spoken with before the battle had begun. She smiled behind her helmet; a familiar voice in combat was always a comfort.

"Co-ords incoming," she replied, then signalled her men to provide cover-fire while she inched her head above the speeder, and pinpointed the crawler tanks with her macrobinoculars. After marking each tank, she quickly ducked back down and hit the 'transmit' button.

" _Co-ordinates received and relayed, Captain. May the Force be with you._ "

"And you, B'nath," Echo sighed with relief, once the communication had ended.

After several long minutes of exchanged fire, the Republic APC's lumbered into the fray, their weapons brought to bear on the crawler tanks that were wreaking havoc from across the battlefield. Their focused fire disabled one of the tanks, and a smattering of cheers was barely audible from the Republic forces, though such jubilation was short-lived; one of the APC's received a huge blast from the mouth of the valley, and exploded into a brilliant cloud of smoke and flame, scattering shrapnel across the Republic battlelines.

Screaming as white-hot shards of metal pierced their armour, the Republic soldiers scattered from the remains of the APC, just moments before the burning fuel that had spilled from its wrecked fuselage ignited a stockpile of blaster cells, which promptly discharged spectacularly and vapourised anything - or anyone - unlucky enough to be within the blast radius.

"What in the name of…" Lieutenant Hathor began, shielding his visor from the glare as his helmet lenses failed to polarise quickly enough, and he squinted through the dense smoke to see the wreckage.

"Where did that blast come from?" an angry Private Sora demanded, blindly tossing a concussion grenade out into the ranks of the Imperial soldiers.

"I can't tell in this damned fog," Captain Echo snapped, the barrel of her rifle beginning to glow and hiss, a sign it was overheating. "Cover me, I need to get to higher ground".

"What're you planning, Cap?" Private Tarvi asked, discarding his own overheated rifle and drawing a pair of blaster pistols.

Echo quickly surveyed her surroundings, and found that one of the turret nests above them was no longer pouring out fire. Though she couldn't see clearly, her gut told her that the gunner was incapacitated or dead.

"There," she pointed, moments before taking off as quickly as her feet would carry her. Blaster bolts narrowly missed her, and her armour was peppered with soil and dirt churned up by a small explosion somewhere in her vicinity, but she didn't stop to look around. Only once she reached the access ladder to the turret nest did she halt, and then only to change direction and begin her ascent.

Another APC fell victim to a violent lance of crimson energy, and the distant screaming of the burning crew, spilling out of the doomed tank and onto the grass, was all she seemed to hear on her climb to the top. _Not now_ , _Roza,_ she told herself. _Mourn the horrors of war later. Win the battle first._

When she finally reached the nest, Echo gently pulled aside the fallen gunner, retrieving the identity chip from his armour in the process, and then took up position behind the turret. Peering through the enhanced scope, she surveyed the battlefield. It was easier to determine the number of Imperials that had been killed, as they were incredibly uniform in their frontal assault. Scattered here and there were her own soldiers, but as more fell, the individual squads co-ordinated their efforts and covered more ground between them.

Finally, she spied a pair of lightsabers; one burning white in the distance, carving into the left flank of the enemy advance, the other closer to the perimeter, a green flame batting aside blaster fire as though it were some kind of game.

 _At least the Jedi are still with us_ , Echo smiled to herself. _We may actually win this yet..._

Another explosion rocked the battlefield, and the third Republic tank went up in flame, its troop compartment ablaze while the squat little walker itself continued to plod toward one of the Imperial crawler tanks. It finally ground to a halt meters away from the crawler, but with a stroke of luck, seemed to block the Imperial tank from gaining a firing solution without having to reposition.

Echo panned the turret up, and her heart sank; emerging from the valley were the Imperial Walkers. Their cannons were already rotating, seeking the next high-priority target.

"Imperial Walkers!" she announced from her vantage point, her hand slapping the comm built into her helmet to send her warning to anybody left alive.

"Fall back!" Master Gabrian ordered, his emerald blade swatting blaster fire back into swathes of advancing Imperials.

Steadily, the Republic force gave ground, falling behind the cover offered by the ruins of the enclave's perimeter.

Cael soon joined his Master behind a plinth of crumbling stone, his sweat-stained face blackened from smoke and dashed with small cuts from flying debris.  
"That was very foolish of you, Padawan," Gabrian scolded, his black lips curling to show his feline fangs and display his annoyance.

"They have us outnumbered, Master," Cael replied, deftly sidestepping the issue and yet another lecture. His indigo robes were ripped in places and his bare arms bled, and in his heart Cael knew that was enough evidence to prove his Master right; it had been foolish, but it had felt so fulfilling.

"It matters not," Gabrian replied with a calmness at odds with the chaos around them. More blaster fire punctuated the air, followed by muffled screams as soldiers were either hit, or buried beneath falling rubble. "Our men fight for a just cause. The Sith Empire will not so easily wrest this enclave from our hands!"

Captain Echo had rejoined her men on the ground, and swapped her overheated rifle for a heavy cannon that had fallen from the hands of a dead soldier, occasionally levering it around the edge of her cover and spraying the Imperials without prejudice. Her squad positioned themselves nearby, also carefully picking their moments to break cover and harass the enemy.

"We won't be able to keep this up for long, Cap!" Hathor snapped, after risking a glance to gauge the progress of the enemy's advance. The Imperials seemed to be slowly picking their way through the perimeter ruins, occasionally falling prey to Republic soldiers behind cover, but more often than not, flushing them into the open and mowing them down. It was systematic elimination, and it was dwindling their numbers drastically.

"Orders, Captain?" asked Sora, his finger squeezed tightly on the trigger of his rifle, firing blindly through a space in the ruins.

"Retreat to the courtyard," Echo decided after a moment. "We'll be out of range of their mortar fire, and the perimeter ruins will slow their walkers".

"You heard the Captain, retr-"

A snap-hiss drowned out the rest of the command, and a blade of crimson protruded through the ruined stone serving as cover for Echo and her squad, where it had pierced Lieutenant Hathor in the spine and out through his chest. He twitched noiselessly for a moment, and then hung limp, slowly slipping from the blade and to the ground.

"Sith!" a voice shouted from a few feet away, and through the smoky haze, Captain Echo spied two luminescent beams of violet, dancing with fluid and deadly grace.  
"Fall back!" Echo roared at the top of her lungs, and retreated with her heavy cannon laying down suppressive fire. Once more, the knell of war boomed over the battlefield, as the Republic forces exposed themselves and began another exchange with their enemy.

Kevaarn uttered a low growl when his blade failed to find the Captain of the Republic response force, but rather than be deterred, he was incensed; prowling across the broken scenery and picking his way over corpses of Republic and Imperial soldiers alike, he batted aside blaster bolts like flies and wherever he spied a hint of white battle armour, his fist would clench and crush that armour around the being trapped inside of it, or his blade would slither through the plating like a knife through a tender steak. He didn't allow himself to be distracted by the plentiful opportunities to bestow death, for these soldiers were a mere irritant, barely even an obstacle in his path, but should one of them stumble across him he saw no reason to begin displaying mercy.

No, his main quarry was the Jedi. Krysil had specifically reported seeing two of them, and he'd felt their presence in the Force; one so sickly serene and self-assured, the veil of his delusion pulled so thickly over his eyes that he believed himself to be one with the Force, and an extension of its will. The other… less so. A little more turbulent around the edges, a little less pliant to the dogma of the Jedi, and far more susceptible to frustration. Perhaps that one he would target; it would be quite the victory to slay a Jedi this day, but to turn one completely against his doctrine would be a far greater achievement.

"Are you looking for something, Sith?" a deep, guttural voice called out. Kevaarn peered through the mist and the smoke of a hundred small burning fires.

"I think I just found it, Jedi" Kevaarn sneered, rounding in the direction of the voice, and after a few moments, finding himself looking up at a Cathar in indigo robes.  
"Just so," the Jedi mused, and after beckoning Kevaarn forth, disappeared into the mist. Kevaarn paused for a moment to consider; the Jedi was trying to lead him away from the warring Imperial and Republic forces, and more importantly, away from his objective. And yet, if he allowed the Jedi to live, he would surely return to make a nuisance of himself…

Krysil moved with grace through the ruined perimeter of the enclave, his twin lightsabers bathing the mist around him in an eerie violet.

"Jedi!" he called out, unconcerned that doing so would attract the attention of fleeing enemy troopers. A stray bolt came his way, but his senses told him to ignore it, and it slammed into a stone pillar beside him, not even slowing him down. Another fired toward him, and an effortless sweep of one of his lightsabers sent it ricocheting back through the mist. He could sense them both; the stronger of the two was behind him somewhere in the ruins, being hunted by Kevaarn, whose Force signature he could read clearly in the same vicinity. The other was erratic, not so easy to pinpoint, almost as though the Padawan was among his troops one moment, and in the next breath, right beside him…

Krysil pivoted on the spot and crossed his blades before him, a hastily erected barrier that barely saved him from the slicing platinum weapon of his enemy.

"That was a neat trick you did with the Force…" Krysil began, but the Padawan did not seem to be in the mood to exchange banter. He was on the offensive, a rare thing for a Jedi, and Krysil could feel the turmoil raging within. To his own astonishment, he found himself being driven back through the ruins, giving ground to the furious, wide sweeps of the Jedi Padawan, despite matching him blow for blow.

The Jedi seemed to favour a reverse-grip on his unusually slim, elongated hilt, forcing Krysil to adapt every time a blow rained down toward him from a direction he wasn't expecting. It was frustrating, but at the same time, he could sense an equal anger simmering within the Jedi; perhaps his opponent was as disused to fighting against two blades, as Krysil was against his style.

"Do you think you're saving your men's lives, keeping us away from the battle?" Krysil asked, deflecting another blow and making a sweep at the Padawan's legs with his other blade; as expected, the Jedi leaped overhead, and Krysil turned with him, blasting him off-course with the Force and throwing him into a crumbling pillar.

"I think they'll take care of themselves," Cael replied, coughing while pushing himself back to his feet and levelling his blade before his face to ward off the double-strike of the Sith that had leaped at him. He pushed against the twin violet blades, utilising a two-handed grip on his weapon, until they were face-to-face between the three hissing lightsabers. Cerulean eyes locked onto the ochre-tinged glare of the Sith, and just as Cael sensed his foe was about to disengage the lock and strike out, he planted his boot in the matt-black armoured midriff of the Sith, and with the assistance of the Force, vaulted himself up and backwards, disappearing into the veil of mist.

He landed in a crouch atop a partially ruined archway, and the sound of clashing lightsabers behind him drew him down from his perch, and into the fight between his Master and a second Sith, this one masked and hammering at Gabrian with a blood-red blade.

"Master!" Cael called, drawing the attention of the Sith and forcing him to defend when the Padawan's blade came an inch from severing his arms.

"Did you kill Krysil?" the masked Sith demanded, seeming to ward off blows from both Jedi with relative ease. Kevaarn repositioned himself and fell into a rhythm of blocking and parrying, countering and switching targets, block, parry, counter, switch; it was a deadly dance, and one misstep would lead to disaster. "No… I sense his presence," he continued, guiding the Padawan's blade into that of his Master, and locking them up for a moment, just in time for his fellow Sith to burst from the mist and dive straight for the back of the Padawan, both blades poised for the kill.

He would have succeeded too, had the Cathar Jedi not intervened by physically dragging his Padawan out of the fray and sweeping his emerald lightsaber to intercept.  
"I don't believe we've been introduced," Krysil smirked at the Jedi Master, locking blades with the imposing Cathar and driving him backwards, until Gabrian was pressed back to back with his Padawan, who was furiously warding off strikes from the ferocious Kevaarn.

"You are Sith," Gabrian replied, "and that is all I need to know. You will not prevail here. The Force shines a light on these sacred grounds, a light not so easily snuffed."

"We shall see," Krysil disengaged and rolled aside, to strike at Gabrian's flank. The Cathar seemed to ignore him, however, and angled his blade behind himself, warding off a slash from Kevaarn that had been intended for his Padawan, while Cael's blade intercepted Krysil. Master and Padawan skirted around one another, blocking strikes from both Sith, completely attuned to one another, until Krysil lost patience and unleashed a blast of Force energy that staggered the Jedi Master and separated the two. Seizing the opportunity, he leapt upon the Cathar, intending to take his head when, with a cry of anger and desperation, the Padawan barrelled into him, physically tackling him and knocking the wind right out of him.

"Cael, no!" Gabrian shouted, as Cael raised his lightsaber high, his features contorted with malice, and stabbed down at Krysil's armoured chest.  
Krysil tried to intercept, but the Jedi Padawan had his arms pinned to the ground beneath his knees. Enraged that it should come to this, he balled his fists and roared at Cael, as though the sheer force of his fury could stay the Jedi from delivering his deathblow.

Instead, it was Kevaarn that saved him, his blood red blade slipping between Cael's weapon and Krysil's chest, and then with a flourish, scoring a fine cut along the Padawan's left cheek. The Jedi recoiled, scampering away from Krysil, and then came to his feet to regard Kevaarn. The masked Sith again flourished his weapon, and beckoned Cael forth.

"Don't do it, Padawan," Gabrian warned, stepping up behind Cael, but his words fell on deaf ears. In a blur of motion, Cael leaped for Kevaarn, and within moments, the two had vanished into the mist, back toward the enclave. Gabrians heart felt heavy, for he knew Cael's turbulent past left him dangerously vulnerable in moments such as these. The boy did not purposefully flirt with the dark side, but too often did he come close to welcoming its embrace.

Pulling himself from his reverie, Gabrian became aware of the second Sith, Krysil, pushing himself gingerly to his feet and once again igniting his twin violet lightsabers.

"Looks like I get to kill the Master," Krysil smiled, settling into a ready stance. Gabrian assessed their surroundings, aware that the Sith had taken his attention from the battle for too long. In the distance, he spied the three-legged Imperial Walkers slowly picking their way through the perimeter ruins, but the combat zone had long since moved to the enclave courtyard. _Soon, they may well need me. As might Cael…_ he thought wistfully. _He and the other Sith went that way. I hope the boy can sustain himself until I arrive._

"Very well," Gabrian sighed, slowly closing the gap between himself and Krysil, to answer the Sith's challenge. "Let us see what passes for training in these Sith Academies of yours."

The battle had turned briefly in the Republic's favour. Bereft of their artillery support, the Imperial troops were as fish in a barrel upon emerging from the smoke and haze of the ruins, giving the 202nd Battalion and their militia support the time they needed to regroup and begin a strategic offense.

Captain Echo was once again on the comm while her squad worked alongside others to lay down overlapping arcs of blaster fire, confusing and overwhelming the advancing Imperial army. She had taken cover behind the anti-air missile launcher, which had begun picking off the enemy squadron that had been harassing her men from the skies for the first few minutes that they'd emerged onto the courtyard. It was only thanks to the AA launcher that they'd been able to turn the battle around; those fighters would have made short work of the remains of her battalion.

"Repeat that last, B'nath," she called into the comm, struggling to hear him over the launchers whining servomotors, and the whooshing of missiles as it locked onto another target.

" _Ye.. 'am… I sai… miral Lor… etreating… sustained heavy… sses…_ " B'nath tried to relay, but it was no use. The signal reduced to a static hiss, and Echo looked up to the skies. _Admiral Loran retreating, sustained heavy losses_. Somewhere out there, an Imperial vessel was now blocking their communication frequencies, and if the Republic was no longer providing fleet support, then the enemy would be free to land more troops. Within the hour, they'd be planetside. _We need to end this now and form a plan of defense for their second wave_ , she realised, still reeling over the bad news.

"Captain!" Private Sora gasped, sliding into cover beside her and yanking off his helmet. "They've blocked our signal! We need air support, their blasted walkers are almost through the perimeter!"

"I know, Private," Echo snapped, instantly jerking the Mirialan out of his tirade. "Get to the enclave. Tell them to scramble the bombers and get anyone capable of firing a blaster onto the battlefield" she ordered, snatching his helmet out of his hands, and placing it back on his head.

"Ma'am!" Sora saluted, and then shot away toward the enclave, blaster rifle drawn, ducking and weaving to make himself a hard target to hit.

"Tarvi!" Echo shouted, standing up in the shadow of the AA launcher, which was now motionless as it waited for the ground crew to arrive and reload it.

"Captain!" Tarvi shouted back, not even pausing in his relentless assault against the enemy.

"Tarvi, I need you to take a squad and…"

 _Boom._

It happened so quickly. One minute, Echo was ordering Tarvi to take a squad, sneak past the enemy advance and seize one of their unguarded crawler tanks, the next, Tarvi and the men fighting nearest to him were gone, vapourised in a massive blast of energy that could only have come from one of the Imperial Walkers. Before she'd had time to digest this, the ground beneath her seemed to buck her into the air. Intense heat washed over her, and for a second she thought she was going to cook inside her armour, and then she crashed back to the ground. A ringing filled her ears, her vision began to cloud, and as darkness took her, the last thing she saw was the debris of the anti-air missile launcher raining down around her.

Both Cael and Kevaarn shielded their eyes from the brilliant flare of the AA launcher exploding, after an Imperial Walker emerged onto the courtyard and fired upon it. Had it been carrying missiles, it would have wiped out a significant portion of the remaining Imperial troops, along with most of the Republic forces, and such disregard for loss of life angered Cael deeply.

"You are monsters!" Cael roared, raining blow after blow down upon the masked Sith and forcing him to wade into the sea of black armour that was the Imperial army. The soldiers scattered at the sight of clashing lightsabers; some fell as errant swings cut nimbly through their armour plates, but none dared fire for fear of either hitting their Sith master, or incurring the wrath of the visibly incensed Padawan.

"You say that as if the Jedi have never killed during this war," Kevaarn breathed through his mask, bracing himself as Cael collided with him, their blades clashing hard and spitting with energy.

"We kill only when necessary," Cael countered, dropping low and sweeping the ground with his leg, to take the Sith off his feet. Kevaarn, however, was quicker, and soared backward through the air, somersaulted, and landed some distance away with his blade pointing across the gap between them.

"Is that what they tell you?" Kevaarn asked, with a chuckle. "And why is the murder enacted by the Jedi more necessary than that enacted by the Sith?"

"It's… I…" Cael stammered, but he had no answer. _Damn it_ , he seethed. _Is he right? Are we any better?_

"Is there anything more pitiful," Kevaarn lamented, "than someone with such potent ability, being held back by a doctrine that brainwashes him into obedience?"

"Shut up!" Cael snapped, once more closing the gap between them and hammering at Kevaarn with his lightsaber.

"Oh, where is your serenity now, Jedi?" Kevaarn laughed, falling back into rhythm with his foe. Overhead, a squadron of PT-7 bombers roared in unison, and moments later, the ground beneath Cael and Kevaarn's feet shook, signalling the detonation of the bombers' payload and the destruction of the Imperial Walkers.

Facing the explosion, Kevaarn exclaimed with shock, shielding his masked eyes, which allowed Cael to blast him over the remains of the AA launcher with the Force. He landed hard on the ground, his lightsaber rolling from his grip and clanking against the forearm plate of the Republic Captain, half-buried beneath a pile of debris. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight, and then unleashed a barrage of Force Lightning upon the Padawan, silhouetted against the sun as he leaped to deliver a finishing blow.

...

The _Harrower_ -class vessel ' _Decimator_ ' drifted through the remains of Republic and Imperial ships alike, an arrowhead piercing the detritus of battle. Few Republic ships had survived to flee the battle and limp home, wherever home might be. But even if they had reinforcements close by, it would take significant numbers to pose a threat to this particular fleet, for the ' _Decimator_ ' was one of the Empires few remaining flagships powered by the rare isotope-5, a mineral painstakingly seized from the Hutt Cartel on Makeb some years prior. The isotope not only maximised energy efficiency and made for a much faster ship, but provided a substantial output to both shields and weapons. She was not indestructible, but with both Imperial and Republic fleets reduced by the recent war and subjugation by Zakuul and its Emperor, such a vessel was capable of turning a battle completely around.

The command bridge remained bathed in crimson light, but the alert sirens had long been silenced and the crew at their workstations had fallen back into clinical routine. One man stood alone on the observation deck before a vast aperture, silhouetted against Dantooine as the planet loomed larger and larger in the panoramic viewport. Gloved hands crossed behind his back, the man barely shifted his rigid gait upon being approached by a communications officer.  
The officer saluted, but the man did not turn around. An uncomfortable silence pervaded the air, broken only by a rhythmic, mechanical breathing. Finally, the officer swallowed hard, and delivered his report.

"Admiral, we've received word from the ground. Our forces encountered resistance, but have pushed the enemy back. Our walkers have been destroyed, and the Jedi -"

"This campaign has already started to become too costly," the man, Admiral Stahl, muttered with discontent. "Order our men to fall back and prepare for an orbital strike," Stahl snapped sharply, his raspy voice amplified throughout the bridge.

"Yes… yes, sir…" the officer saluted, and then scuttled back to his post. Still the Admiral did not turn, nor lose his composure. Not even when the ' _Decimator_ ' accelerated, nor when it was announced that they'd entered geosynchronous orbit with the planet and had acquired a target lock on the enclave.

Not even when he calmly issued the order to open fire.

...

Captain Echo coughed hard, and moaned when her eyes fluttered open and Dantooine seemed to tilt on its axis beneath her. She tried to crawl forward, to retrieve the blaster rifle lying on the ground ahead of her, but a great weight seemed to have settled itself on top of her.

Ahead, halfway along the courtyard, she could see the tell-tale flashing of blades signifying a lightsaber duel, but from this distance and with her head thumping so hard, she could not discern which Jedi it was that fought. She could not even muster the strength to call out to him.

" _All Imperial units, come in!_ "

Echo heard the muffled sound of a comm device somewhere to her right. Crying out in pain, she twisted around and groped blindly in the debris, her fingers finding an empty helmet, then an armoured forearm, and finally, a comm-link, gripped tightly in the dead hand of a fallen Imperial soldier.

She cried out again with the agony of trying to contort herself while half-buried beneath scrap metal, and brought the comm-link to her ear.

" _Repeat, all Imperial units, come in!_ " a voice issued from the comm-link. " _By order of Admiral Stahl, withdraw to safe distance, repeat, withdraw to safe distance. Orbital strike incoming!_ "

Echo sagged, her face pressed to the ground, and she screwed her eyes closed with anger. The day was lost. And how could it not be? How could she have so naively believed that the smattering of troops the Republic had allowed to defend Dantooine could possibly have withstood the Empire?

 _First thing I'm doing when I return to Coruscant is handing in my resignation_ , Echo decided. _Hell, who am I kidding, I ain't making it back to Coruscant. This is it. End of the line. Do the Empire even take prisoners of war?_

A stampede of Imperial soldiers was heading her way now. She couldn't see clearly, but there didn't seem to be any white armour following behind. Either the Republic forces believed they'd successfully routed the Empire and had remained inside the enclave, or the Empire had exterminated them all.  
Defeated, and not wishing to contemplate either scenario, Captain Echo let unconsciousness claim her once more.

Master Gabrian was slowing down. True, to the eye of one not versed in the ways of the Force, he continued to move with a surprising poise and agility for a being of his stature, but the Sith was wearing him down. His footwork was becoming steadily sloppy, his deflections and parries were becoming desperate and reactive, and his limbs were beginning to ache from the sustained combat. _And_ , Gabrian suspected, _the Sith is aware of this_.

"Do you not tire of this dance?" Gabrian asked, parrying Krysil once again and redirecting the Sith, body and blade, into the ruins of a pillar with a soft crunch of armour impacting on stone.

"Never," the Sith laughed with exhilaration. "I live for this. To cross blades with the enemy, to learn from him, to improve myself. Who needs a Master, lecturing me, when a battle to the death with you is all it takes?" he sneered, punctuating his words with sweeping blows of his twin blades, each time being met with the effortless parries of the Jedi.

"Oh, is that what this is?" Gabrian chuckled. "A lesson in how to fight like a Jedi?"

"What?" Krysil snapped, his battering retaliation halted momentarily. "No, I…"

"I'd have thought our methods beneath you," Gabrian teased, his whiskered nose twitching merrily. "By all means, if you wish to abandon this silliness and join the Jedi, we could see about redeeming you to the light."

"Be quiet! That's not what I meant and you know it," Krysil spat, testing the tiring Jedi with lazy jabs toward his torso and shoulders.

Neither Jedi nor Sith was prepared for the sudden barrage of turbolaser blasts that rained down from the heavens, pounding the enclave with such terrible force that both Krysil and Gabrian were bowled from their feet. A rush of Imperial soldiers fled through the perimeter ruins and made for the valley, despite being well clear of the blasting zone. Gabrian pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape; he'd felt a sudden great loss of life, his senses flooded with panic and terror, and then silence, and an absence in the Force.

"Cael!" he gasped, remembering that his Padawan had duelled the other Sith in that direction. "Cael, no!"

Gabrian staggered forward, trying to keep his footing, his Padawan now his sole concern. Surely, if the boy had died, he'd have felt it keenly in the Force?

A burning hot lance of agony seared through Gabrians stomach, and a primal roar escaped him. Lightsaber dropping from his hands, he gripped at his belly, and winced at the violet blade protruding through the wound.

"One false move," Krysil whispered from behind him, "and you're mine".

Another blade took him, this time through the chest, and then both were torn out of his body and he fell to his knees.

"Cael…" Gabrian gasped, even as the sleek armour of the Sith filled his fading vision.

"Don't worry, Jedi," Krysil murmured, kneeling before the Cathar and cupping his face reassuringly. "I'll take good care of him. If Kevaarn didn't kill him, and if the blast didn't kill him, then I certainly will."

Gabrian had no argument left in him. He died clinging to the hope that his Padawan had survived to bring justice to those responsible for this tragedy. He died hoping that Cael could resist the darkness long enough to see it driven from the galaxy.


	2. Chapter 2: Omens

**Second chapter. Hope you all enjoy the read. As per usual here are the authors and creators involved:**

 **Robhumph - Yours truly  
** **NihilXIII - Creator of all things awesome  
Mardya - The leader of our band of merry men**

 **Disclaimer: Neither Star Wars nor The Old Republic setting is owned by us and all rights go to Disney, EA and Bioware. We three only claim ownership of our various OCs**

* * *

 **CHAPTER II  
OMENS**

" _Speaking from a personal standpoint, I do not believe it wise to divert military and naval assets to some far flung corner of the galaxy, just to protect a few old ruins. If the Empire wishes to waste its time blasting temples and enclaves to pieces, then let them. We'll continue destroying their fleets and reclaiming the territories they stole from us, and when we raise the Republic standard high over the worlds rescued from their tyranny, they can stand proudly on the rubble of their meagre conquests and ask themselves why, exactly, they lost the war.  
What this means for the Jedi is unfortunate, but the Republic does not rely on their religion for its foundation. We use them for the protection they offer us, but when the protectors need protecting, then what use is such an arrangement?_"  
\- Senator Taja Lohden of Kaal, speaking candidly to HoloNet News in opposition of the decision to support the reforming Jedi and the protection of their sacred grounds.

* * *

 _ **Ruins of the Jedi Enclave  
Dantooine**_

 _ **1300 Hours (local time)**_

The ' _Decimator_ ' had ceased firing, and the sudden silence punctuated the desolation that had fallen over the former Jedi Enclave. The hope and determination that had lived within the hearts of its personnel, Republic and Dantooinian alike, had been beaten as effectively as the enclave's weaponry. Desperate to flee the dreadnought's fire, the soldiers formed easy targets for the waiting Imperial forces on the ground. And as hope gave way to despair, the defenders of the enclave perished.

Leaning against the last solid section of a crumbling wall, Krysil observed the systematic destruction of the enemy from his vantage point next to Master Gabrian's corpse. The Jedi's lightsaber was in his hands and the Sith took his gaze off the ruins long enough to admire the well-made hilt. He thumbed the switch and marvelled at the brilliant blade of emerald that burst forth. Their private battle had been a good test of skill, leading to the inevitable. Only one could be the victor and Krysil savoured of the sensation of being alive, deeply aware of the breeze cooling his sweat-stained flesh, and the constant throb of blood pulsing through his veins. _Another day. Another fight…He never saw it coming. Too bad for him, lucky for me. Sentimental fool! I did his Padawan a favor. Not that he'll ever thank me. He'll probably be disappointed I wasn't the one dieing. Well, he won't be the only one if I know Strafe_ , Krysil thought to himself with wry humor. _Who'd have thought a Sith Lord and Jedi would have anything in common?_ He smiled, imagining the face of Lord Strafe when confronted with his victory, and then brought himself up short. _Wake up, you fool! There's time to gloat later._

"My Lord?" came a voice behind him and Krysil turned, clipping the Jedi's lightsaber to his belt.

"Corporal Serne," he acknowledged the Imperial. "What's the word from the ' _Decimator_ '?"

"The Republic fleet has been defeated, and Lord Kelzan is on his way planetside, my Lord." Serne replied, saluting smartly. "He should be here within ten minutes."

"Ten Minutes?" Krysil exclaimed, pushing himself to his feet proper. "Why didn't you contact me? And where is Kevaarn?" He raised a hand to ward off a response. "Nevermind. I'll find him. You will inform Lieutenant Varr to ready our wounded for transport, and assemble those not needed elsewhere at the gates". He smirked, and added "what's left of the gates, anyway. Then take five of your men and sweep the enclave. Leave none alive."

The Corporal's lips moved as he silently echoed the Sith's commands. "Yes, my Lord!" Another crisp salute followed and he left, without waiting for further dismissal.

"Now, let's see what my friend's done to your Padawan, eh?" Krysil said, nudging the Cathar's corpse with his foot as he stepped over it and prowled toward the courtyard and the ruined atrium, in the direction where he'd last seen Kevaarn.

Rubble crunched underneath his boots and dust wafted upwards in lazy puffs with each stride as the Sith rounded the corner, eyes sweeping over the piles of debris here and there, searching for a familiar form. He kept one hand near his saber, his senses alert for the Padawan's presence. Cael had been a little too proficient at shielding his presence in the Force, and Krysil had no intention of missing even the slightest error by the young Jedi. _One mistake_ , he thought. _Just one mistake, little one, and you're next_.

To his left, a cloud of dust rose upwards, following by a clatter of metal crashing against stone. Krysil spun around and whipped his saber free, stalking towards the huge pile of debris that shook with movement from underneath. He lithely dodged a jagged piece of metal as long as his arm that flew upwards from the rubble, and stopped two feet away. "Kevaarn?

"Blast whichever idiot designed this place! Can't hold up after one damned bombardment," a muffled voice complained from underneath the rubble pile, falling silent when its owner registered the other Sith's presence. "You're laughing, aren't you!"

"Me? Would I do that to a friend?" Krysil did laugh then and he was still laughing when Kevaarn emerged, his armor scratched and dusty but otherwise unharmed as far as Krys could tell. He leaned down and clasped the older man's hand, hoisting him to his feet and clapping him on the shoulder. "The Padawan?"

"Gone." Kevaarn turned around and kicked at the remaining detritus. "Would have had him if this blasted pile of rubble hadn't given up on itself".

"Bad luck," Krysil judged, turning his gaze towards the hilltops visible over the remains of the enclave walls. "It's a pity we can't chase him now. Your father is on his way and he'll want to see you."

They reached the gates just as Lord Kelzan's personal shuttle touched down. The soldiers who were not busy had fallen into formation, forming an honor guard on either side of an open stretch of grass that led from the shuttle towards the gates. Krysil and Kevaarn strode forward until they stood before their men. They bowed their heads and waited.

The shuttle's hatch door was pulled inward, revealing an armor clad figure standing in the opening. His cloak caught in the breeze as he strode down the ramp that had hastily been rolled out by two Imperial soldiers. Standing at least six foot tall Lord Kelzan struck an imposing figure, an impression that was enhanced by bulky armor designed after a fashion reminiscent of times long gone, of an era wherein the Empire had dominated the galaxy and the mere mention of the Sith had spread fear and despair. Even Krysil was not immune to the message the Sith Lord sent, not in words but by the mere power of his presence.

The Sith will rise again, that presence said. We will rise and bring order to the Galaxy!

Krysil cast a sidelong glance towards Kevaarn standing next to him, curious to observe his friend's reaction to his father's arrival. The reverence he sensed in others was less present within Kevaarn, he thought, but where he felt admiration tinged with fear and anticipation around him, Kevaarn seemed perfectly calm. He caught his friend's gaze briefly and raised his head, timing it perfectly. Lord Kelzan stood before him.

"My Lord, the enclave is yours," he intoned respectfully, stepping aside with a sweep of his hand to the dust and rubble where the gates had been.

"Hmph, very good." the Sith Lord replied, turning his head towards the Imperial soldiers gathered before him, his voice easily carrying over the battlefield. "Today... Today the men and women of the Empire, Sith and Imperial alike, have struck a blow few in the galaxy can ignore."

The impact of his words was felt all around, men and women straightened and Krysil couldn't quite suppress a small smile of triumph. _We did this_ , he thought. _I did this._

"Ahead of you, in all it's crumbled and decrepit glory, stands the great Jedi Enclave of Dantooine." Lord Kelzan continued. "A hallowed place in this galaxy's history. The very epicentre of the so called civil war the Jedi inflicted on the galaxy at large, the grounds where Revan himself began his journey to oblivion."

Revan! They had all known the enclave had been important to the Jedi but few had realized why. Now they knew and Krysil hazarded a look over his shoulder towards the ruins.

"Now look at it," Lord Kelzan said, mirroring Krysil's thoughts and possibly the thoughts of every Imperial present. "Where once there was a majestic palace dedicated to the pathetic practises of the Republic and its _protectors_ , now there stands naught but rubble and corpses. And this was your doing! It was you, brave Imperials and Sith, who broke the backs of the defenders and achieved a victory second only to the Sacking of Coruscant itself!"

Excited murmurs rolled through the ranks, but Lord Kelzan's voice easily silenced them as he strode past the ranks to stand before them, outlined against the enclave's ruins. "But we will leave _nothing_ standing this time! We found this monument to the Jedi a place of stone and marble. We will leave it a place of cinders and ash!"

When the Sith Lord fell silent, Krysil took his cue and signalled to Lieutenant Varr. "You heard Lord Kelzan, Lieutenant."

His command was met with an eager grin. "It will be my pleasure, my Lord!"

"Men! With me! Torch this place!"

* * *

 _ **Fields of Banir  
Dantooine  
1920 Hours (local time)**_

 _The back of a hand caressed his cheek softly, sweeping locks of charcoal hair away from his eyes. A voice, muffled, called out to him, and the fogginess that had clouded his mind began to lift._

 __"Cael," _it said, ethereal and distant. "_ Cael, you don't have much time" _._

 _Cael's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself floating on a bed of starlight, his fingers tracing ripples into the fabric of space itself. Astral bodies blinked in and out of existence around him, and shied away from his caress when he tried to reach out._

"Cael," _the voice rang out, clear this time. Cael furrowed his brow; he knew that voice. It was both comforting and concerning, for it was the voice of the deepest bond he'd ever felt, and also the deepest hurt._

 _And then, as if summoned by thought alone, his brother was beside him, holding onto his arm with one hand and scooping a sun from its solar system with the other.  
_ "What are you doing here, Caden?" _Cael asked, tracing the halo of light emanating from the snatched sun with the tip of his forefinger. It didn't burn, as he expected it to._

"I'm always here, brother," _Caden replied with a warm smile, and Cael marvelled at how alike they were in appearance. The same wide eyes, the same soft expression, the same pale, narrow face; only Caden looked drawn, perhaps even a little gaunt, as though something was slowly sucking the life out of him and he was quickly losing the will to resist it. Their eyes were different colours; Cael's a bright cerulean, and Caden's, due to dalliances with the dark side, a fiery amber. His brother had taken to colouring his hair a deep crimson to match the thin, crescent-like tattoo surrounding his right eye, but those differences were superficial._

"I was fighting," _Cael recalled, closing his eyes and resting his head against Cadens shoulder, "_ and then _nothing._ An explosion of light, and nothing."

"You don't have much time," _Caden repeated. "_ Wake up, Cael."

"What do you mean-"

"Cael!" _  
Cael opened his eyes, and Caden was no longer there. Nor was the sea of stars he'd been swimming through, or the bed of light that had borne him. He was alone, in the dark emptiness of the void. A shriek of agony pierced his ears, as though the Force itself were torn asunder, and lunging at him through the nothingness was the wide, fanged mouth of a flaming viper._

 _He recoiled, and screamed, and felt himself tumbling away through the long dark. He drowned in the echoes of his exclamation, and the screams of trillions, while clawing hopelessly for an escape…_

Cael's eyes snapped open, and he scrambled upright, throwing off his coverings and reaching for his lightsaber. His hand grasped nothing but air, and panicking, he groped at his hip and found nothing but bare flesh.

"What? Where-" he gasped aloud, but his head swam and he flopped back to the ground. Wherever he was, it was dark; the moon was barely visible through the flaps of beast hide serving as the entrance to his tent. Rain pattered gently, though to Cael, it was as if a meteor shower were thundering down upon him. His head drummed with each drop splashing against his tent, and his vision still swam with blinding green light.

 _An orbital strike_ , he thought to himself. It was the only explanation. He didn't know what had become of the Sith he'd been fighting. He'd been so blinded by rage at the injustice meted out by the Empire that he'd lost himself for a moment, attacking with hate-fuelled purpose. The Sith could have been anybody, or nobody, for all the difference it would have made; Cael had put himself in harm's way, all because he'd proven yet again that he was unable to control his emotions.

" _There is no emotion, young one, but peace of mind,"_ he thought to himself, in Master Gabrians voice. _Oh no,_ _Master Gabrian!_

Heart sinking, Cael sat upright and tucked his head between his knees, his arms wrapped around his legs. He didn't need to be told that Gabrian was dead, for he felt it, just as he'd somehow felt it while adrift in the space between the orbital strike and waking up… here. Wherever here was.

A chilly breeze kissed his skin, and Cael peered out to spy a young man wearing primitive, tribal clothing - if the loincloth and footwraps could be called clothing - entering his tent. Gathering his coverings to preserve his modesty, Cael pushed himself to his feet as quickly as he could, and raised a fist defensively.  
"Oh, you're awake- woah, easy, easy!"

"Who are you?" Cael snapped, though he sensed that this one was a friend, and lowered his fist.

"It's Sora," the man assured him, holding his hands out as if trying to control a wild beast. By the dim light from outside, Cael could just make out the pale yellow skin and red markings of the Mirialan, and he sagged with exhaustion from the sudden adrenaline surge. His head was muddled, and he hadn't recognised the soldier without his armour.

"Where are my robes?" Cael muttered. "My lightsaber?"

"B'nath asked that we keep any form of technology hidden for the time being," Sora explained. "We're with the Dantari. They're a primitive folk. Healed your wounds a treat though!" he smiled, nodding at Cael's bare chest.

For the first time, Cael noticed the thick salve covering the wounds on his chest and arms, and he suspected his face, too. But nothing was making sense. _B'nath? Dantari?_

"Where?" he slurred, feeling another bout of dizziness and nausea creeping up on him.

"Relax, the Captain has your belongings," Sora calmed him. "Had to dump our armour though, it was too heavy to drag around".  
Cael slumped to the ground once again, and put his face in his hands.

"I've brought you some clothes," Sora offered, stepping closer and holding out a small bundle. "I mean, they're a bit… well… they don't offend the natives, which is what matters, I guess," Sora stammered. Cael noticed he seemed nervous; was it because he was addressing a Jedi?

"They'll be fine," Cael offered, holding out a hand for the primitive trappings. "I'd really like to know what I've missed, though."

"Captain Echo is outside, with B'nath." Sora gestured to the tent flap, and smiled some. "The Dantari hunted a graul while you were sleeping. The meat's a bit tough apparently, but anything beats field rations!"

 _I am quite hungry, actually_ , Cael realised, and his stomach growled in response. Sora chuckled, and at Cael's behest, helped him to his feet. Minutes later, he was dressed as no Jedi would ever dream of dressing, and allowed Sora to guide him from the tent

"You almost look like a native," the soldier smirked, and walked him through the rain and toward a large canopy of sewn-together hides, held aloft by stakes of wood and bone.

Captain Echo prodded at the small campfire before her, enticing the flames to breathe a little longer and roast the hunk of meat that a stranger was rotating on a makeshift spit. By the flickering glow, her cuts and bruises added shadow to her sombre expression, and her gaze seemed far away, seeing through the flames to some unknown torment. Clad in rags made of beast hide and no longer trapped in the confines of her white armour, Cael realised at once how vulnerable and how much more human the Captain appeared.

"Captain," Sora said softly upon approach, and after settling Cael next to her, took over from the stranger at the campfire, turning the meat and looking at them both expectantly.

"Ah, Cael," Echo smiled, snapping out of her reverie and gesturing to the stranger. "This is B'nath. He's from the local militia," she explained, "and it's thanks to him that we're alive. He and Sora were able to pull us from the ruins before the Imperials could regroup and scour the area".

"Thanks," Cael muttered, nodding to B'nath. He wished he knew how else to express his gratitude, but the events of the day were wearing him down to the point of numbness. And now that he was sat before the campfire, he was beginning to recall his dream, or vision, or whatever that had been. It seemed Caden had been trying to warn him of something, but what? And what was the fiery viper supposed to signify?

"It's really nothing," B'nath smiled, gesturing out toward the darkness beyond the canopy, where tribesmen were pulling apart their kill and distributing meat and hide and bone, to be turned into food and shelter and tools. "If we hadn't happened upon the Dantari, I don't think you'd have lasted the night".

"They healed me?" Cael asked, his hand running over the dried paste that covered the myriad of wounds along his chest when he remembered what Sora had told him in the tent.

"Their Garoo recognised you as Jedi, and agreed to help," B'nath explained. "I expect she'll be with us shortly, now that you're awake".

"Luckily for us, B'nath speaks their language," Sora chimed in. "If you can call it speaking, anyway. Looks like random waving and pulling funny faces to me, with the occasional noise thrown in for flavour," he frowned.

"Just don't offend them by mistake," B'nath laughed. "Leave the talking to me and we should stay in their good graces. Oh, if I'd known I'd be ending this day translating for the Republic and the Jedi…"

"B'nath," Echo interrupted, with a thin smile.

"Oh, of course. Staying on topic," B'nath scolded himself. "Your possessions are in here." He patted a makeshift bag on the ground beside him, also made of beast hide, that Cael hadn't noticed before. It didn't seem overly full.

"My lightsaber?"

"Safe," Echo assured him. "The Dantari, by large, aren't familiar with our technology, and we thought to keep it that way. The Garoo expressed gratitude for us adapting to their means during our stay".

"This 'Garoo' seems to be familiar with a lot," Cael argued, staring once more into the flames.

"Yes, but it's not our place to interfere with their way of life," Echo countered. "The least we can do to thank them for sheltering us is to respect their practices."

"How long can we expect to retain their hospitality?" Sora asked, looking at B'nath.

"I imagine the elders will want to be free of us as soon as possible," B'nath sighed, looking toward a large canopied area some feet away, beneath which were gathered six Dantari, conversing heatedly. "But I do not think they'll kick us out until they, themselves, pack up camp and continue on their way".

"With any luck, the rain will have subsided by then," Echo said hopefully, "and we can return and search for Master Gabrian."

"No," Cael spoke up. "No, there's no point. Master Gabrian is… he's…"

"Oh," Echo whispered solemnly. "You're certain?"

"I feel his absence in the Force," Cael tried to explain. "He's gone. You should focus on getting back to the Republic. I should focus on finding the Jedi." When this suggestion was met with uncomfortable silence, Cael perked a brow, and looked between Echo and Sora, awaiting some sort of explanation.

"We- the Captain and I- have decided not to go back," Sora finally confessed. Cael studied the Mirialan, sensed his regret and guilt through the Force, and shuffled gingerly across to sit beside him.

"I understand," he said softly, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and looking Echo in the eye, nodding to her with a slight smile.

"We burned in a fire that the Republic knowingly tossed us into," Echo scowled, balling her fists. "We were undermanned, under equipped…"

"I said I understand," Cael repeated. "I know I have no right to ask any more of you, but-"

"We've already agreed that we'll help you find your way back to the Jedi," Echo interrupted. "But we do it of our own volition. We'd hoped Master Gabrian might be able to give us a starting point, but we can't rely on that now."

"I will do what I can to help you escape Dantooine," B'nath offered, while sliding the hunk of graul meat from the spit and beginning to rip it into four portions with his bare hands. "After that, I fear I can go no further. I have family on Dantooine, and the Empire will be leaving behind an occupying force for the foreseeable future."

"If I remember correctly, there's an old Jedi Temple on Dantooine," Cael smiled warmly, and accepted his dinner from the militiaman. "You've already done more than enough, but if you could help us reach it..."

"I'd hoped to help the Republic," B'nath sighed, "and all I can do is play tour guide."

"You've been invaluable, B'nath," Echo agreed with Cael. "None of us here would ask that you abandon your family."

"Thank you, Captain," B'nath smiled sheepishly. "We're in the Banir Fields, finding the Temple will not be arduous. Getting in and out in one piece, however, might be a different story."

The four of them descended into silence after this, chewing on their food and contemplating their defeat at the hands of the Sith Empire, and the trials still to come. Only when a figure shuffled toward them through the rain and darkness did they stop, set aside the bones that they'd picked clean, and arose with respect for the Garoo of the tribe.

Cael had never seen a Dantari before, and was immediately awed by her physique. Lean and broad, with a large flat face and a thick nose, she stood head and shoulders above himself and Captain Echo, and was festooned with necklaces and bracers adorned with all manner of fang and bone. She wielded a club-like mace, decorated with feathers and yet more fangs plucked from the maws of unnamed predators. Folds of beast hide gathered on the ground behind her, dragging through the mud and the sodden grass, until she pooled herself within them on the floor and gestured for them all to sit.

She began to speak - unintelligible noises, accompanied by gestures of her hands and fingers, her facial expressions conveying more meaning than Cael could possibly understand - and B'nath observed, occasionally exchanging words and gestures with her, before translating.

"The Elders have spoken. We will be gone when the light returns," B'nath conveyed, confirming their earlier suspicions. "We are given the gift of the Vincha."

"Vincha?" Cael asked, but his question was answered when the Garoo presented them with a flower. She thrust it at Cael, who seemed perplexed, but upon her insistence, he took the delicate thing from her, and bowed his head.

"It's a treasure among the Dantari," B'nath whispered. "It has healing properties. I think she'll want more than a bow of the head."

"Tell her…" Cael faltered. What did he have that he could give?

"Tell her we will give a gift that cannot be bound by material possession," Echo suggested. "Vengeance against those that burned their lands and tainted the enclave."  
B'nath weighed up the merits of such a proposal, then reluctantly delivered it. Cael couldn't tell if the Garoo was pleased, or offended; she exclaimed loudly, and raised her hands, shaking her mace vigorously, but B'nath seemed happy when he began to translate.

"The Garoo says such a gift will be treasured beyond words by all Dantari."

"Well, that's a relief," Sora muttered, and Cael smirked at him.

The Garoo rose, and jabbed her mace toward Cael, and immediately he and Sora dropped their gaze to the floor; he hoped they hadn't offended the shaman.  
"You, step forth," B'nath translated.

Cael stood and did as he was asked, feeling suddenly small in relation to the Dantari mystic. She touched his shoulders, one after the other, with her mace, and then put a hand on his head, her thumb and smallest finger kneading his temples as she chanted something under her breath.

"What is she doing?" Cael whispered out of the corner of his mouth to B'nath, who could only shrug, until the Garoo furnished him with more to translate.

"She says you have seen," B'nath again shrugged. "Seen what? I don't…"

But Cael was no longer listening.

 _He was falling once more through the void, the pinpricks of starlight around him becoming engulfed in shadow_

"Cael! You don't have much time!"  
 _The serpent coiled around him, constricting around his throat and he found he could not ask the questions he wanted so desperately to voice. Its eyes bored into his own, and its forked tongue flickered against his lips, and for a moment Cael thought he saw something disturbingly human in its gaze._

"Cael!"

"Cael!" Echo and Sora both shouted as one, and he found himself on the floor at the Garoo's feet, with both the Captain and the Mirialan shaking him desperately.

"I'm okay!" he gasped, clinging to Sora's arm and pulling himself upright again.

"What happened?" Sora asked, and Cael realised the young soldier was trembling. "What did she do to you? You just fell, and started shaking…"

"It wasn't her," Cael swallowed hard, rubbing at his throat. "I had a dream, before I woke up here, a vision of some sort. And again, just now-"

"The Garoo says she also sees," B'nath said, translating from the shaman who had returned to the floor, and had begun prodding the campfire with her mace. "The winged goddess weeps, and the fanged god strikes. The snake is his herald. He will devour all."

"The.. what?" Cael asked, bewildered, but the Garoo seemed to think that no further explanation was required, for she fell into silence and left Cael looking to B'nath, Sora and Echo for answers. All seemed equally as confused as he was.

* * *

 _ **The 'Decimator'  
En Route to Dromund Kaas  
2025 Hours (Galactic Standard time)**_

Hours had gone by since the ' _Decimator_ ' had entered hyperspace, leaving Dantooine and the ashes of the former Jedi Enclave behind. All soldiers who had not been assigned tasks had retreated to the crew deck, either to rest, wait their turn to use the sanisteam or be seen by one of the medical staff. Others had found their way to the cantina. Too restless to sleep, they had settled in with drinks and at several tables the pazaak cards had come out.

One of the first to claim a sanisteam unit, Krysil had basked in the heat until the tension had left his body and a pleasant weariness had sunk into his muscles. Gritting his teeth he turned the temperature to low and gasped when the cold hit him, flushing the drowsiness from his system. Hair still damp and spirits high, he changed into a pair of slacks, a woollen sweater and plain, comfortable boots made of tough, gundark leather, and made a beeline for the cantina, sinking into a seat near one of the tables where a group of spectators was betting on a Pazaak match.

Listening to the banter, Krysil lit a cigarra and exhaled, eyes slitting against the smoke wafting upwards. He was halfway through his second drink, having switched from water to whiskey when Kevaarn joined him. "There you are," Krysil greeted him, lazily kicking out a chair for his friend. "I started to think Lord Kelzan would keep you from celebrating all night."

Kevaarn grunted a reply, but he didn't sit and Krysil raised a brow, leaning forward. "Trouble?" he murmured., following the other Sith's gaze when Kevaarn glanced to an empty table in the back and offering a nod in understanding. "Give me two minutes," he replied, pushing his glass into Kevaarn's hands. At the other's questioning look Krys winked. "Watch," he commanded, pushing his chair back and coming to his feet with a confident grin on his lips.

He looked around and decided merely standing didn't give him the exposure he was after. Hopping up on the table, via the chair, he raised his hands, signalling for silence. He was patient and waited for the chatter to die down before raising his voice. "Today you all heard Lord Kelzan call our victory second only to the Sacking of Coruscant!" he called out. Several of the men cheered and Kevaarn shook his head, grinning. "And a victory like that should not come without a trophy!" Krysil continued, taking Master Gabrian's lightsaber hilt from his belt and raising it high for all to see. "A Jedi Master died on Dantooine today! And since the enclave is nothing but ashes, he 'graciously' donated his lightsaber to mark our victory!" Under thunderous applause the saber hilt floated through the cantina towards the wall behind the bar where the loop draped over a corner of a worn Imperial placard. The saber hilt swayed a couple of times and then was still. "It will stay there until we reach Dromund Kaas!"

"You're insane," Kevaarn smirked when Krys jumped to the floor and held his glass out to him.

Krysil draped an arm around his friend's shoulders and took the glass, raising it in salute. "To victories," he said. "That we may celebrate them often. Speaking of which, did you order? If that look on your face is any indication, I am going to want a refill for this." He downed the last of his whiskey and steered Kevaarn towards the empty table where he disengaged himself, and weaved through the crowd towards the bar.

He set his empty glass on the counter and beckoned the bartender closer. "Luy, refill this for me, please. And a Kaasian Red for my friend."

"Coming right up, my Lord!" Luy, a tall, grey-skinned Twi'lek, abandoned the glasses he'd been pouring for two others and reached for the whiskey bottle. "Did you really kill that Jedi?" He inquired, with a nod to the saber hilt adorning the wall.

"Mmhm," Krysil folded his arms over the counter and grinned up at the bartender. "It was a good fight too."

Luy tipped the bottle and poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into Krys' glass. "In that case, this one's on me," he smiled.

"You're spoiling me, Luy," Krysil replied, watching him pour the red wine for Kevaarn in equally generous quantities. "I should do this more often."

"That was the general idea, my Lord."

They shared a grin, and Krys carried both glasses back to the table where Kevaarn had been waiting. Sinking into a seat across of the older Sith, he moved an ashtray closer and lit up a fresh cigarra. "Alright," he said. "Let's hear it."

Kevaarn leaned forward. "You remember Ravella?"

"That lieutenant your father considers the next best thing after Roemer?" Krysil nodded. "Yeah, I know who she is. Easy on the eyes as well as capable. What about her?"

"Nothing about the woman herself." Kevaarn continued. "Just some news from Kaas."

"So? What happened? Did someone dispose of the Empress while we were away?" Krysil exhaled a plume of smoke towards the older Sith and smirked when Kevaarn wafted the vapours away. "Did the HQ burn down?" he continued. "That'd be a shame."

"Are you allergic to seriousness or something akin to that?" Kevaarn sighed and Krysil raised a hand in a placating manner.

"Sorry, I'll behave. Go on?"

Kevaarn shot him a suspicious glare. "The word is, the ' _K'lmsi'_ , Darth Athaven's flagship, is en route from the Outer Rim. The Chiss is right behind us."

Krysil raised an eyebrow. That was big news indeed. The leader of their powerbase travelled frequently and his time on Dromund Kaas was scarce. It had been said that the alien Darth once had served as a diplomat for the Chiss Ascendancy, but those rumors had never been confirmed. "Your father must be pleased? I heard he thinks highly of Darth Athaven?"

"He does, but that's not the point." Kevaarn replied. "Tension is rising on Kaas. Strafe is on the warpath again. Remember when he made that bid for the Director seat but Vannir got the promotion instead?"

"Politics," Krys groaned. "I don't even know why he wants the job so badly. When you're the one who has to make sure the powerbase runs smoothly, you get all the complaints too. Wouldn't be my dream job, but what does this have to do with us?"

"Has something to do with you annoying him, I imagine." Kevaarn sipped from his wine and looked over when a disagreement broke out at a nearby table. When it seemed the argument went no further than glares and insults, he resumed his tale. "You may have gotten what you wanted, but with a reputation like yours… hard to shake off. Apparently Strafe thinks that Vannir is at fault for not beating you into form."

"That's a kriffing heap of bantha dung, and he knows it!" Krys replied hotly. "So, he doesn't like me. Yeah, sure, I get it. I made him look nerf-brained but that's on me and no one else." He scowled and leaned forward, crushing his cigarra in the ashtray with more force than necessary. "So, he's coming after us?"

"According to Ravella at any rate."

"How?"

Kevaarn sipped his wine and shrugged. "Send personally trained assassins after us? You know us Sith, nothing's ever simple when it comes to grudges."

Krysil stared at his friend for a full minute, a smile dawning on his face. Mischief glinted in the ochre colored eyes as the younger Sith sank back into his seat and lifted his glass. "You know," he drawled, "I think Lord Strafe is stirring up just my kind of trouble."

...

Hours after departing Dantooine, Admiral Stahl paced onto the bridge, each other step punctuated by the clanking of metal against the decking. He walked with a pronounced limp, but it made him no less formidable. Injuries sustained throughout the course of the war had given Stahl a rather grotesque appearance; lank black hair fell down over the left side of his face, not quite disguising the vicious burn scars and the cybernetic replacement for his missing eye, and his lower face was masked completely by a robust rebreather that fed his seared lungs with oxygen.

Where his peers were known to maintain a crisp white uniform adorned with all manner of embellishment, from medals to cloaks, Stahl eschewed all decoration and wore a simple military-style black tunic. Even his rank plaque seemed to offend the simplicity of his uniform.

Eyes were averted as the Admiral passed the crew stations and made for the observation platform, gloved hands clasped behind his back, his rhythmic mechanical breathing signalling his passing and drawing sighs of relief from those in attendance - relief that he was in a good mood, judging from his silence. If he reached the platform without dressing anybody down, it was a sure sign that the Dantooine campaign had met all acceptable parameters.

Indeed, Stahl reached the observation platform without incident, and stared into the swirling vortex before him, the hyperspace lane that would take them back to Imperial space, back to Dromund Kaas.

"How long until we arrive?" Stahl asked nobody in particular.

"Ten standard minutes, sir," a voice replied. He didn't look to see who. He didn't care who. He'd served long enough to know that these men were interchangeable; either they'd find posts elsewhere on the vessel, or on other ships, or they'd die in combat, or one of them would annoy the wrong Sith or officer and either be demoted or disappear out of an airlock. Far too many variables to warrant forming personal attachments, he had long ago decided, and his ship ran all the better for it. He didn't need to know these men, he didn't need their admiration or their respect, and he certainly didn't need their familiarity. He needed them to do a job, and do it as he commanded, the rest of it be damned.

"Good. Open comm channels, redirect any priority alerts to my personal frequency," he ordered, extracting his holocomm from his belt. He began to pace before the viewport, his mind elsewhere, while scanning distractedly though the incoming messages.

He immediately trashed the reports from fleet commanders signalling their departures to various frontiers, for he knew the movements of the fleet better than any; many of the campaigns being undertaken were of his own design, as shortly following his promotion, Stahl had used his authority to escalate the war against the Republic and to scale back on smaller skirmishes barring the ones he was overseeing regarding the Jedi.

Just thinking of the Jedi irked him, as he skimmed through a correspondence from the ' _K'lmsi_ ', the flagship of Darth Athaven. Oh, how he wished that the Sith and Jedi aspect could be removed from play in these affairs. Manoeuvring the Imperial and Republic fleets would be a damn sight easier if he didn't have to factor in the personal vendettas that pervaded every battle plan. Part of the reason he'd elected to personally oversee the elimination of the Jedi sacred grounds was so that he could mitigate the distraction that so often resulted from Sith meeting Jedi in the field. Lesser commanders would defer readily to whichever Sith was in charge, but not Stahl; he knew the cost of war, and he wasn't willing to pay it to satisfy a whim.

Lord Kelzan, at least, seemed a reasonable man. Stahl had never had cause to earn the wrath of the Sith, but he was also no fool - he knew that many of them would view his stance as insubordination at best, and treason at worst. But Lord Kelzan seemed of a similar mind, at least when it came to quickly and effectively ending a conflict to a favourable outcome.

"Admiral, another priority message, for Darth Athaven. Apparently the ' _K'lmsi_ ' is out of range, they've redirected it to us," a comms officer announced.

"Let me see," Stahl gestured, and the incoming transmission played via his holocomm.

"We have a situation in the citadel," a distressed honor guard reported, his voice breaking up due to interference caused by the vast distance between them. "There's a man here, he claims to be Sith, some emissary from the Unknown Regions".

 _How curious_ , Stahl mused to himself. _A rare thing, to see an Imperial honour guard so rattled_.

"I will pass this on to Lord Kelzan," Stahl assured the honor guard. "Might I ask why this is cause for alarm?"

"He's mind-controlling the rest of my guard!" the honor guard shouted, gesturing wildly to something unseen. "Says his name is Thazyn. He's demanding to see Darth Athaven. I don't know how to proceed!"

"Oh, entertain your guest a while longer," Stahl snorted. If there was one thing he despised more than Jedi, it was the power games of the Sith. Their politics didn't interest him in the slightest, but he found himself forced to keep up with their shadowy games, if only so he knew to whom he had to report. Darth Athaven seemed to possess an uncanny longevity in that particular arena, and as Lord Kelzan fell within Athaven's powerbase, Stahl made it a point to know the movements of the Chiss and his snivelling, power-grabbing underlings. If Thazyn were here to upset the established order of things, perhaps it would lend something new to a situation that had grown predictable and stale, Stahl pondered to himself. It was an unexpected wrench in the works, but such shake-ups often produced results to his liking.

"Sir, if you could give me an estimated time of arrival…"

"Keep your head on straight," Stahl snapped, silencing the honour guard. To his credit, the guard fell silent, despite completely outranking Stahl. "I'll inform Lord Kelzan. Try not to let this Thazyn cause too much damage, that citadel has only recently been rebuilt".

With that, he disconnected. His final glib remark had only been half intended as humour; the citadel was a costly structure, a gross misplacement of funds that could be better used if they were redirected to the war effort. But to deny the Sith their grandiose statements of power was a fruitless endeavour, so as much as it displeased him, he often refrained from voicing such opinions.

"Inform Lord Kelzan I will be visiting him in his chamber," Stahl instructed the comms officer. "And have his shuttle prepared for immediate take-off".  
As fast as his limp would carry him, Stahl made for the turbolift aft of the bridge. He'd anticipated minimal direct encounter with the Sith Lord for the remainder of this voyage. He did not like being mistaken.

* * *

 **Feel free to leave a review and thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3: Thazyn

**Third chapter. Read and enjoy. And as usual here are the ones writing this:**

 **Robhumph - Yours truly  
** **NihilXIII - Creator of all things awesome  
Mardya - The leader of our band of merry men**

 **Disclaimer: Neither Star Wars nor The Old Republic setting is owned by us and all rights go to Disney, EA and Bioware. We three only claim ownership of our various OCs**

* * *

 **CHAPTER III  
THAZYN**

" _The '_ Ven Zelada' _, commanded by decorated naval veteran Rhin Larun, has been declared missing. She was investigating the Harrin Trade Corridor and the series of unexplained disappearances along that route._

 _While officials have not released a statement regarding their future intent to secure that series of hyperlanes, nor any insight as to what could be causing these vessels to disappear, popular theories are spreading throughout the HoloNet. Republic High Command labels much of the speculation as 'preposterous' and 'fear mongering'.  
The theories range from a secret amassing of vessels for a covert strike against the Sith Empire, to the fabled Iskalloni capturing ships and enslaving their crews._

 _Whatever the case, this topic is likely to be hotly debated in the next session in the Galactic Senate this evening.  
In other news, following Senator Lohden's condemnation of the decision to reroute naval assets to the gathering places of the Jedi Order, reports from local forces and survivors have come in that the old Jedi Enclave on Dantooine has been the latest target of an Imperial strike force..._"

\- Jeor Nalis, reporting for HoloNet News, live from the Senate Plaza on Coruscant.

* * *

 _ **Sith Sanctum**_

 _ **The Citadel  
Dromund Kaas**_

 _ **2100 Hours (local time)**_

Tall, slender, and clad in scaled, form-fitting robes of black and violet weave, Lord Thazyn slithered inconspicuously through the atrium of the Sith Sanctum. Cowled in a half-helm that revealed only a narrow, ghostly white chin and thin, smirking lips, he strode with a regal poise; clutching a fine staff of phrik and electrum in one hand, while gesticulating with the other at the recently erected statue of Empress Acina, he mused over her finer points with the mute guardsmen upon whose minds he had seized.

He'd taken the time on his journey to Dromund Kaas to familiarise himself with the recent history, and subsequent shift in the political landscape, of the Sith Empire from which he'd been secluded during his tenure as a Sith Lord. Their former Emperor, Vitiate, had been a man that had claimed immortality and ultimate power as his right to the throne, and for centuries his claims had been uncontested.

But, as with all that claim such nonsense, he'd eventually been toppled under circumstances that no one source seemed able to agree upon, and replaced by… _this_.

Acina was relatively new to the governing aspect of the Empire as he understood, and by all accounts, her previous work had involved little more than governing a reliquary. And then, by the sheer chance of being the only surviving member of the Dark Council, she had found herself in a position to lay claim to the throne.

Supposedly, support for her claim was near unanimous, but as Thazyn very well knew, in situations such as this the real power was behind the throne. The backside that warmed the seat was merely a figurehead, and a target for enemies to aim at. He did not know Acina any better than he'd known Vitiate - that is to say, not at all - but he very much doubted that her tenuous claim to power would withstand the coming wars.

So, he asked himself; what was the point in celebrating her rise? By the time the dust had been blown off the final carving of the Empress, there'd likely be a new figurehead on the throne. They might as well have kept the old statues, Thazyn mused to himself, recalling the outdated images he'd studied of the Sith Citadel. At least they made Vitiate look like any old hooded, nondescript Sith. Far easier to change a name plaque and pretend it was meant to be whichever bloated, egotistical bigot was sitting the throne, than to waste time carving out new effigies to worship whenever one decided their time had come.

He sighed softly to himself, and continued walking, escorted as it were by his dutiful puppets. They made for a rather convincing show, flanking him and ambling along wordlessly and with no particular urgency. Others moved around him without so much as a passing glance; Sith conversing with one another about their allies and adversaries, ranking Imperials with their eyes glued to their datapads or holo-receivers, and technicians distributing orders to service droids about failing terminals, the air conditioning in some Darth's library and – to Thazyn's amusement – the statue of the Emperor that still hadn't been removed from outside of Acina's old office.

It was dull listening, but it amused the Sith Lord how simple it was to go unnoticed when everyone around him was concerned with trivialities.

But of course, at the back of his mind, he was keenly aware of one man that was stalking him like a nexu on the scent of a kill. The guard captain, Rennin, a keen beacon of contained fear that followed him at what Thazyn assumed was meant to be a safe distance. It was curious that the man hadn't attempted to reach out to the passers-by, and alert them to his trespass; perhaps the superiors he'd contacted had advised against it, lending to a shadow of hope that his request to speak with Darth Athaven would, in some form, be entertained.

He approached an elevator platform and peered upwards to the balcony that overlooked the atrium. With a mirthless smile, he waved a hand, releasing his escort of honour guards from their mental enslavement – and, indeed, from consciousness – and before a scene could be made by the startling display of a dozen red-armoured men collapsing to the floor in unison, slithered onto the lift and ascended. As expected, by the time he reached the balcony, the atrium was buzzing with activity. The previously oblivious comers-and-goers were now positively alive with energy and demanding enlightenment, whether through genuine concern, or the need to gossip. And amidst the gathering swarm, he spied Captain Rennin, trying to maintain his composure and explain away the odd situation without raising the alarm.

Behind Thazyn, a door hissed open, and clad in crimson robes replete with a flowing cape bearing the arms of Darth Athaven, a Sith Lord emerged and sidled up beside him.

"I had wondered what you intended to do with the honour guards," the Sith Lord spoke in the clipped accent of one that had enjoyed a privileged upbringing. Thazyn wet his thin, pale lips, but did not afford the other Sith so much as a sideward glance.

"I had considered having them perform some act of barbarism on themselves," he muttered with disinterest, "but I am not here to start a war. Hearsay is that you Sith are already embroiled in more than you can reasonably handle without me adding to your woes," he smiled.

" _We_ Sith?" the Sith Lord asked, sidestepping Thazyn's attempt to bait. "I was under the impression you were one of us. You certainly style yourself as Sith, _Lord_ Thazyn".

"So, word of my arrival has spread throughout Darth Athaven's powerbase? Good," Thazyn murmured, leaning on the balcony railing to better observe Captain Rennin utterly fail to contain the growing crowd down below. Medics were arriving on the scene, and Thazyn privately amused himself at the thought of their confusion upon being unable to identify any plausible medical cause for the incident. "I am Sith. I simply do not fall under the jurisdiction of this Order you've constructed around yourselves".

"The Sith Order is absolute. Wherever you come from, whatever practices you been-"

"Is that what you tell each other to keep yourselves comfortable?" Thazyn pitched in, finally pivoting on his ornate staff to face the Sith Lord, and sized him up. He was human, a little shorter, and much broader than Thazyn, with neatly combed short blonde hair and a groomed goatee that failed to distract from his age-lined face. This was a being that was far too concerned with personal appearance, and Thazyn imagined that half of those stress lines were a result of struggling to remain a physical paragon of relevance in an ever-shifting Order of Sith; the man was easily pushing the boundaries of middle agedness, but his face made him look far more weary.

"I'm not sure I understand your meaning," the Sith Lord frowned.

"Look at this place," Thazyn gestured, encompassing the atrium with a sweep of his arm. "A monument to the ego of the Sith, one in which you all sequester yourselves away from the people you propose to govern. Ceremonial guards that are equipped to protect little more than your collective ego. Gargantuan statues, sweeping Imperial standards… I could go on," he sighed. "It is, at best, a thinly concealed trap for those of you that need to be kept in line," he mocked, shaking his helmeted head and smiling sadly. "Your Masters rule the Sith Empire, while you little people are hypnotised by the illusion of power that they pull right over your willing eyes."

"For one who claims to exist outside the embrace of the Sith Empire, you certainly have a versed opinion of those of us that adhere to it," the Sith Lord remarked tersely. "Even if it is ill-informed".

"Does my opinion matter to you?" Thazyn asked, again with a thin smile directed to the other Sith.

"To me? No. But if it is your wish to meet with Darth Athaven, as I have been informed, then perhaps you will want to keep a lid on such opinions," the Sith Lord suggested, with a knowing smirk. "It wouldn't bode well for you to upset the Darth".

"Are the sensibilities of the Sith so easily offended in these parts?" Thazyn licked his lips, turning once more to survey the scene below. Captain Rennin was gesturing wildly while conversing with what appeared to be another Sith Lord; this one was armoured, head to toe, and beneath his red hood glinted an ornate yet functional mask. "I had come to expect that all Sith respected power and profit above the notion of individuality. That one down there looks to be a fine example," he observed, gesturing to the Sith below.

Beside him, the groomed Sith seemed to be mulling over how best to apply a retort without making himself look like a blatant profiteer, a moth to the flame of the powerful, or indeed one whose ideals were so easily offended, and much to Thazyn's amusement, remained at a loss for words.

"Do not worry yourself so," Thazyn uttered in a low, guttural tone. "This will not be the last time you find yourself cornered, whether it be philosophically, intellectually, or indeed physically".

"Was that a threat?" the Sith Lord asked, seeming to find his voice once more.

"As I have already explained, I am not here to begin a war. But a mere conflict of ideals never hurt. On the contrary, you may even find yourself improved by a little competition. You do strike me as the type that is used to enjoying people bend the knee with far too much ease," Thazyn chuckled. "Pray tell, do you have a name?"

"You may call me Strafe, Lord of the Sith and future Director of Darth Athaven's powerbase," the Sith replied haughtily. "Though I doubt you will pose any sort of challenge, by any degree. Darth Athaven may entertain the idea of seeing you, if you are lucky. I daresay he won't suffer you to live beyond that, however."  
 _Future_ _Lord Director, is it?_ Thazyn mused silently. _A lofty title for a puppet. How easily cowed is the man that seeks even the tiniest scrap from the table of power._

"I believe Darth Athaven is capable of forming his own decisions, whether they align with your desires or not, Strafe," Thazyn smiled. "And who is that, coming to interrupt our pleasant exchange of wits?"

Strafe peered down over the balcony, to watch the armoured, hooded Sith stride toward the lift. Notable by his absence was Captain Rennin; either the Sith had dismissed him along with the rest of the crowd, or the Captain had had enough excitement for one day.

"Ah, Lord Kelzan," Strafe chuckled. "You'll find him less susceptible to this kind of exchange. Try anything foolish with him, and your head will part from your shoulders before you even reach Darth Athaven".

"So we're in agreement that the Darth is, in fact, willing to receive me?" Thazyn asked.

Strafe failed to disguise the beginnings of a scowl at his own slip, and Thazyn delighted himself in his small, yet largely irrelevant victory. "If you like, I shall convey your concerns over my lack of adherence to your Order and its ideals. It is all rather alien to me, and I imagine it will save you making such complaints behind my back. I would hate to tarry your continued aspirations in becoming Lord Director," he chuckled, with derision.

Strafe seemed to redden, and judging by his scowl, it was anger now that was welling up within the other Sith. Thazyn studied him intently, but was spared any outburst by the arrival of Lord Kelzan.

The armoured Sith paused upon alighting on the balcony, and gave Strafe a silent stare. Thazyn watched Kelzan, enraptured by the presence he commanded; even he had to admit that this Sith cut an impressive and imposing figure.

"Ah, good, Lord Kelzan," Strafe greeted him, seeming to regain a measure of his previous composure. "You have been made aware of our little debacle regarding this… trespasser?"

The armoured Sith grunted. "I have. Captain Rennin informed me of this… situation. Tell me, what is the name of this… bah, what even is his rank?"

"Lord Thazyn", Thazyn interjected, before Strafe could dictate the conversation any further. "The aspiring Lord Director and I were just discussing the merits of perceived power versus actual power," he smirked, giving Strafe a sideward glance through his visor. "I believe here we have both paradigms on display in the flesh, no?"

"Spare me the philosophy, _Lord_ Thazyn," Kelzan rumbled, waving a hand before his masked face. "Explain to me why you are here, before my patience runs out," he commanded, his hand balling into a fist.

Feigning surprise at being addressed so, Thazyn clamped his free hand over his chest, but retained his smile nonetheless. "Directly to business, then," he chuckled. "As I informed dear Captain Rennin, before he administered the tedium of security checks and identity verification and the like, I am here as an envoy to speak with Darth Athaven. In person, I might specify," he explained. He did not appear to be preparing to elaborate further, despite the aggressive disposition of Lord Kelzan. Rather, he seemed quite content to withhold certain information, as though it gave him a measure of control over the whole situation in which he'd put himself.

Another grunt. "Pray tell why you should be permitted to do so? For I see no reason to allow you within the presence of Darth Athaven after your little… _performance_ , in the atrium."

"As I told dear Strafe here," Thazyn countered, lazily gesturing to the other Sith with his gilt staff, "such things are at the behest of Darth Athaven himself. I do not believe he would take kindly to the insinuation that a mere Sith Lord could pose a threat to his safety?"

"Your rank matters not in that regard," Kelzan swiftly countered, seeing straight through the deflection of his question. "All you have informed me is that you are some kind of envoy. On whose behalf do you come here and cause unwarranted chaos?"

Finally, the smile upon Thazyn's face faltered, and then twisted into a sneer of blatant contempt. "You believe that was chaos?" he hissed, wending his way toward Lord Kelzan and standing toe to toe with the man. Strafe, all but forgotten at this point, decided that the situation was well taken care of by Kelzan, and disappeared back through the door from whence he came, seeming in somewhat of a hurry to return to whatever other business he had within the citadel. "It was mandated by my master, Darth Kroenen, that I come here and act with due power necessary to secure an audience with Darth Athaven, yet render no permanent harm to his assets," Thazyn breathed, his tongue flicking over conical teeth to wet his lips. "Should I return bearing news that his simple request was beleaguered not by the show of force I'd been told to expect, but by administrative delays and the paranoia of scrabbling inferiors?"

The other Lord's fists clenched, a low growl emanating from him as anger swelled beneath the armour. "Next time perhaps you should refrain from indulging in your childish inclinations towards the lower orders, _Lord_ Thazyn." He moved forward, the front of his mask a mere inch from Thazyn's visored half-helm. "You may meet Darth Athaven. But a _single_ misstep, and your head will adorn my wall."

Once more, Thazyn smiled coldly, and took a single step backward to sweep into a low, mocking bow, one arm gesturing out toward the atrium, the other still clutching his ornate staff. "Then by your good graces, I beg you, lead on," he said smirkingly, "and I shall pray that my head remains atop my neck, and not on a mount".

Kelzan grunted once again and glared at Thazyn for a few long seconds. Eventually, he turned on his heels and marched out, gesturing over his shoulders for Thazyn to follow, not uttering a word.

Dutifully, even if still smiling that false, cold smile, Thazyn fell into step behind him.

* * *

 _ **Darth Athaven's Estate  
Dromund Kaas**_

 _ **2300 Hours (local time)**_

Upon Lord Kelzan's request, transportation to Darth Athaven's estate was soon provided by the Ministry of Logistics. Neither Sith seemed inclined to continue their discussion, and they spent the short journey to the outskirts of Kaas City in a tense silence until they passed the gates to the estate.

Darth Athaven's property was built in the typical Kaasian style; one large building dominated several smaller houses dotted around it amidst a lush forest surrounded by a thick, sturdy wall.

Arriving at the entrance to the mansion Lord Thazyn followed the other Sith Lord up the stairs and through the tall, double doors into a spacious lobby, decorated with luxurious crimson rugs and tropical palm trees in copper-colored pots. Comfortable chairs lined the walls and at the far end of the lobby stood a reception desk, unmanned at this late hour. Two guards stood near the doorway leading into the mansion.

"Lord Kelzan!" A voice called out. A young man came through the doorway and approached the two visitors hurriedly, greeting them with a polite incline of his head. "I just heard you'd be coming over, my Lord. Darth Athaven is expecting you, he's in his study. You remember the way?"

"My memory still serves, apprentice Kimre." Kelzan rumbled. "Ensure you keep an eye on Lord Thazyn", he instructed, gesturing to the other Sith Lord. "I have run out of tolerance for further incidents today." The two guards stepped aside and Kelzan strode past without another glance at his smirking charge.

He knocked and was admitted into Athaven's study with a short 'enter' spoken from inside.

Darth Athaven was a man of medium height and slender build with the regular, sculpted features typical for the Chiss. With flawless blue skin and crimson eyes one might have defined him as handsome if not for the thin lips set into a hard, cruel line. He was seated behind his desk, his attention mostly upon the holo display before him, showing Lord Strafe's translucent image. Kelzan bowed and moved closer when Athaven beckoned him to approach.

"There is only one mention of a Darth Kroenen, my Lord," Strafe said, "but he lived almost fourteen hundred years ago, prior to and during the former Emperor's exodus into the unknown regions. When the Empire returned to Dromund Kaas, Darth Kroenen did not join. Reasons unknown. Reported as killed in action later." He cleared his throat. "There was no information on Lord Thazyn, that arrogant underling of his."

"No, there wouldn't be," Athaven murmured, his voice smooth and soothing to the casual listener. "Thank you, Lord Strafe. That will be all."

Breaking the connection, he turned his attention to Lord Kelzan who had raised an eyebrow at the mention of Kroenen's longevity. "I trust events on Dantooine unfolded according to expectations?" he inquired.

"The enclave was reduced to cinders and ash, my Lord." Kelzan replied.

"Very good." Athaven said, reclining in his seat and folding his gloved hands together. "And so it begins. Now it falls to us to keep this momentum and continue to widen the schism between the Jedi Order and the worlds it seeks to protect."

Kelzan nodded, but his enjoyment over their victory had soured and he left no question as to why. "Does it speak the truth, fourteen hundred years?" he growled, glaring at the holo player.

"I believe so," Athaven replied. "There will always be Sith who crave to conquer death. After they have destroyed their rivals, they fancy themselves worthy of immortality and the mere thought of defeat through time and old age becomes unbearable. Some, such as our former Emperor, or Maladict the First, and now, it seems, Darth Kroenen, succeed into postponing the inevitable long enough to believe themselves successful."

He leaned back in his seat, slender fingers toying with a stylus laying on his desk. "Intriguing, no?" he mused. "After all this time Darth Kroenen reaches out the Empire he abandoned. The most dreary explanation would be that he desires to rejoin us. With Vitiate defeated at last, and the Zakuulan threat gone, many rats have scurried from their hiding places. But… we shall find out soon enough. Speculation is moot when we have a source of information at hand," the Darth concluded. "Undoubtedly, Lord Thazyn will be most willing to share his Master's desires."

"One thousand and four hundred years!" Kelzan said again, with barely contained impatience. "He will wither and die soon enough if I have anything to do with it."

"All in good time," Athaven promised, narrowing the crimson eyes to baleful, glowing slits. "Please, show our guest in."

With a gesture of his hand, Lord Kelzan opened the study doors to admit Thazyn.

In the lobby beyond, Lord Thazyn appeared to be busying himself studying one of Athaven's rare specimens of flora, his gloved fingers playing over the leaves and skirting across venomous barbs. With a smirk of approval, he tore himself away from his distraction, and paced slowly into the study. Grasping his staff in one hand, the Sith Lord swept the other outward in a gesture of greeting to the Darth behind the desk and smiled with a genuine warmth. He bowed low, all but ignoring Lord Kelzan's continued presence now that he found himself in the presence of power.

"My Lord," he began, keeping his head low, "it humbles me, to bow before you after much delay. That you would acquiesce to such a meeting is the deepest of honours. You have my gratitude, and that of my Master."

"A sudden, if welcome, change seems to have come over you, Lord Thazyn," Athaven replied, slightly arching a dark blue brow in an expression of polite reservation. "When word reached me of your display in the Citadel I felt more inclined to ask Lord Kelzan here to ensure your silence, rather than humor your desire for a meeting. If your actions held better reasons than a mere desire to cause havoc I would advise you to share them promptly."

Thazyn's thin smile showed beneath his half-helm, and he raised his gaze as he addressed Darth Athaven. "It was a preemptive calculation, based upon the notion that within the Sith Empire, power is held in highest regard," he explained. "The desired effect was to grasp your attention and, along with it, your sense of urgency regarding what I have to say," he shrugged. "Perhaps, had I been properly educated on the pride of the Sith in these parts, I would have chosen my actions with extra wisdom," Thazyn offered. "If you should like an apology, then allow me to convey my heartfelt aspiration to conduct future endeavours with the proper etiquette."

"I believe I asked for an explanation only," Athaven replied. "Should you feel apologies are warranted, you may extend them as you see fit." Thin lips curled a smile that failed to reach the alien's eyes. "But let us not dwell on your past lack of decorum and focus on the troubles that brought you here. Do continue, what does your Master desire from this audience?"

"There is a degree of sensitivity to what my Master wishes me to convey," Thazyn replied curtly, nodding his head in Lord Kelzan's direction, "and he doesn't wish it to reach the ears of your - I believe the term he used was 'lackeys' - until an accord can be reached and a decision rendered". He gave Lord Kelzan a faint smile, but pushed the issue no further.

"I do understand your predicament, Lord Thazyn," the Darth murmured with polite sympathy, giving no indication that he planned to dismiss the other Lord. "Please, do consider your efforts to satisfy your Master's request appreciated. However, for the sake of urgency that prompted you to put on a show before the entirety of the Citadel, I suggest we continue."

 _Ah_ , Thazyn mused to himself, _so that's how it'll be. Very well, candour shall have to wait_. "If you insist, then who am I to argue?" he asked, his smile faltering for a moment. "The urgency begets the physical condition of my Master, and his urge to return to form. He has scoured the galaxy from afar, searching for a Sith with the rarest of abilities; the use of the dark side in the application of healing," Thazyn explained, keeping an eye on Lord Kelzan as he spoke. _Can I trust him? If he is an agent of my Master, this will have been a very poorly calculated risk._

"Perhaps it is time he bent to the inevitable and allowed his surely decrepit body to crumble into the dust, as it should have centuries ago." Kelzan remarked, voice thick with contempt. "Either that or freeze him in carbonite and be done with the issue."

"So," Thazyn chuckled, rounding fully on Kelzan for a moment, "you have, as I surmised, done your research in the short time since I furnished you with his name." He nodded, with mild approval. "I expect you found yourselves fronted with what limited knowledge the Empire has of his history, culminating with an untimely demise some centuries ago?"

"Quite so," Athaven replied thoughtfully. "And now, after almost a millennia and a half, your Master requires my talents to restore him? An interesting challenge, I admit." The Chiss Darth turned the stylus over between his fingers and locked his gaze upon the Sith standing before the desk, alien eyes gleaming with a predatory glow. "However, you surely understand that upon welcoming a power such as your Master into the fold, one only does so if their loyalty is guaranteed."

"Loyalty?" Thazyn smirked, clearly amused, though at what, he didn't say. "Before we go further," he murmured, "you should know that it is not the rigours of old age that plague Darth Kroenen". He reached into the folds of his robes, and extracted a data disc, then held it out to Darth Athaven. "As it happens, Kroenen is likely of a relatively healthy age, by human standards, at least physically. He exists in stasis, his body exempt from the passage of time, his mind free to exert influence over those he deems useful to his cause. And such influence is widespread," Thazyn revealed. "Even here, within your Sith Order, he has agents poised to strike should an alliance prove impossible".

"He has planned his return well," Athaven commented evenly, outwardly unperturbed at the thought of a sudden uprising within the Order. "Few men take such measures without the intent to bring their well placed pawns into play sooner or later."

Thazyn shifted uncomfortably, supporting his weight with both hands on his staff. "Even as vizier of his powerbase, Kroenen never fully trusted me with his location, or the names of all of his followers. The disc contains all I have been able to gather, unbeknownst to him," he said, nodding at the disc he'd placed before Athaven. "What he _did_ share, quite liberally, was his desire to expunge this galaxy of those he finds undesirable," Thazyn murmured, "and that particular list is limitless, as long as his ends are met".

The Chiss tapped the desk, picked up the disc, and inserted it into the reader. He briefly verified the files were indeed as Thazyn had described, the sculpted features expressionless as he scanned the recordings of the destruction of Darth Kroenen's flagship, degraded with time; a galaxy map with potential locations of Kroenen's stasis capsule and files that displayed the areas of influence within the unknown regions as well as names of known agents working undercover in various parts of the galaxy.

"All that ambition and power," Athaven observed as the scope of Thazyn's betrayal unfolded before his eyes. "And yet, so vulnerable to a single strike."

"From what my Master has divulged, the injuries sustained in the explosion were quite severe," Thazyn concurred. "He has never directly admitted such, but I suspect that much of his energy, upon awakening, will be devoted to maintaining his body. Even cybernetics have their limits." he chuckled.

"A predicament indeed," Athaven replied with mild sarcasm. "Far be it from me to deny my assistance to such an important cause. However, as you surely realize,there is a cost to every favor. That is not a topic that needs to be discussed immediately, but rather one that we may debate at length over the coming weeks. After all, I feel it important to come and know the Master through his faithful ambassador."

"Faithful until the very end," Thazyn remarked in a low, guttural tone. "I shall do what I can to assist you in preparing for Darth Kroenen. Undermining him will, I admit, give me a measure of contentment."

"If you want rid of your master then why waste our time here? Leave him behind and be done with it." Kelzan challenged.

"Oh, Lord Kelzan," Thazyn chuckled, "I should have been more concise. Darth Kroenen accumulates followers from afar, but he does not easily let them go," he lamented. "I would not expect you to comprehend the means by which Kroenen ensures loyalty, but if the masquerade can be upheld, he can, and _will_ be drawn out into the open."

"Then by all means, Lord Thazyn, do not let me delay you in bringing the joyful news to Darth Kroenen that I will consider his request and eagerly await his proposal regarding proper compensation for my time and efforts," Athaven decided. "From one Darth to another, I feel certain your Master will understand, if not appreciate, a reminder of the gravity of his request. Please inform him that I have claimed your time and talents for the duration of your stay and that I expect you to serve me, and through me our Empress and Empire, with zeal and dedication."

"Of course, my Lord," Thazyn smiled, bowing stiffly before Darth Athaven. He gave Lord Kelzan one last look, before turning on his heel, and leaving the study.

By the time Thazyn arrived at the temporary accommodation provided by Darth Athaven, the hour was growing late, and despite the presence of only a sleeping mat and a few essential amenities, he felt a sense of relief at the completion of the initial meeting.

He sank to the sleeping mat, and adopted a meditative position. Drowning out the sound of the perpetual storm hammering against the window of his temporary abode, he focused on his own breathing, until he felt himself drifting away. His mind wandered the stars, groping for a familiar connection, and wondering if perhaps this time his Master would slip and reveal his location upon forging the bond.

Reluctantly, he lowered his mind's defences, and sure enough, an icy grip overcame him; he recognised the sensation, having long been subjected to it. His Master had probed at his mental barriers, and found him welcoming. And then there was the screeching in his ears, and the building pressure inside his skull, signifying that Kroenen had forged the bond that allowed him to communicate with his servants. He found himself frozen in place, as always, and then his head filled with the grating, inhuman voice of his Master.

" _Thazyn_ ," the voice rattled, and a jolt ran down Thazyn's spine. " _My faithful servant. What news?_ "

Thazyn tried to shudder, but he was gripped, and his body did not respond even though it ached for release. His skin burned, as though something corrosive had slipped between his flesh and muscle and occupied the same space in which he existed. All he could do was swallow hard, and in his mind, reply; "I have made contact. Darth Athaven admits curiosity and perhaps, with time, can be persuaded to assist you, my Lord."

" _Time?_ " Kroenen barked, and the agony that erupted forth caused Thazyn to audibly whimper. " _Time…_ " he repeated, this time softly. " _My patience has run its course._ "

"Y-yes, Master," Thazyn replied, his composure slipping, his mind stumbling over the message he tried to convey. "He has claimed me as his own, so I will be positioned perfectly to twist him to your desires…"

" _I will entertain this, but do not tarry. Plans are afoot that will pave the way for my ascension._ "

"So you intend to venture forth from wherever it is you have been forced to hide?" Thazyn asked. It was a feeble attempt to extract information, and the piercing, grinding laughter that rang through his mind told him that Kroenen was not yet willing to share such details.

" _Bring me Athaven,"_ was his response, " _and his gift. Do not fail._ "

And then he was gone. Thazyn wretched, as though vomiting would rid him of the feeling of invasion, the malignance that often lingered within him mentally and physically for days after communing with his Master.

Groggily, and without even remembering to remove his half-helm, Lord Thazyn settled on the sleeping mat, and let himself slip into dreams of a future in which he could claim freedom.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 there we go.  
** **Hope you enjoyed the read and don't hesitate to leave us a review.**


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